Tainted Love
by Lizzleby
Summary: A shortage of berths at Autoboot Camp force Bumblebee and Wasp to share one. After an unexpected interface, a friendship is formed...and tested. Will the new bond break? Or can it withstand the uncovered lies and deception? Mech smut, angst, slight AU.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Sticky, hints of angst. Something based off of a Live-Action Role-Play my girlfriend and I did/are doing.

Time measurements: nanoklik = nanosecond; astrosecond = self-explanatory; cycle = 1 minute; breem = 8 minutes.

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"Wasp?"

It was a whisper, and I honestly didn't expect him to answer. I knew he could pass it off as having failed to hear me, and would. So, after only a few astroseconds of silence, I tried again.

"Wasp?"

Still no answer. But I was determined.

"Wasp? Hey, buddy, are you awake?"

Finally, a reaction. "I'm not your buddy," he said coldly, close-by on my left.

"Right, er… Sorry. But you're awake, right?"

I knew as soon as I asked that he'd scoff at me, and he did. A rough, static-filled sound from his vocal processor, the loudest thing to have come from either of us so far.

"No, I'm talking to you in my sleep," he snapped. "I can answer all your questions accurately because you're just so predictable that I was able to program the answers to them, in order, into my hard drive."

Now I was annoyed. He didn't need to be sarcastic like that; I knew it was a stupid question and would have done well with one of his usual insults.

But, just to be sure it wasn't the truth, I sat up on my elbow and faced him. He was lying next to me on my left, though he was at the edge of the berth—as far away from me as he could be without sleeping on the floor. I leaned closer, trying to look at his optics, but he sensed me. He tensed and half-rolled, glaring up at me.

I froze. My optics widened. My intakes hitched. All in surprise, of course.

"What do you _want_, Bumblebee?" he growled, his gaze pinning me in place. "It's bad enough we have to share a berth, I don't need you looming over me." He looked away, releasing me from his silent hold, muttering something about "stupid camp" and being "better prepared."

I didn't answer his question. What had happened to me? It was just Wasp. Same old afthole. So why was I rendered speechless and motionless by his glare?

He tore into my musings, voice more Wasp-ish than ever. "Are you going to answer me or keep staring at me like some malfunction?"

I blinked, recalling in an instant what I'd been wanting to ask. Nighttime was the only opportunity I had; he avoided me all day, every day. But, because Bulkhead was so big, he took up three berths on his own. The Autoboot Camp apparently wasn't used to having such massive recruits, and there was a shortage—had been for a whole lunar cycle. (My guess was that getting a spare berth wasn't their first priority.) That whole time, Wasp and I were forced to share a berth. Sentinel told us it was because of our similar (small) size, and I thought it made sense. Wasp had objected, but only until Sentinel threatened to fix the problem by kicking him out. He'd resigned himself to his fate after that.

"What--?"

I interrupted him, answering his question before he could ask it again. "Why do you hate me?"

He stopped and stared at me. The glare had vanished from his optics for a moment, and I realized he'd been caught off-guard.

Not for long, though. "Because you're a slag head," he responded, putting venom into his words. It stung, but I persisted.

"No one else _hates_ me," I said, fighting to keep myself from rising to the challenge. It was after curfew; a fight between us would mean a world of trouble. "Just you. Why?"

He glowered at me, then blurted in a semi-hushed voice, "You're an idiot! You get everyone into trouble by trying to show off! You never listen to advice, and you think you're hot slag!"

I frowned. My elbow hurt from my weight pressing it into the hard berth, but I ignored it. This was a more important matter.

"But I haven't done anything bad enough for you to _hate_ me," I said softly, looking down at him.

He blinked, then chose to avoid my gaze. And my statement. "Why are you being so serious? It's not like you." He cast a glance back at me, genuinely curious.

I sighed and finally decided to consent to my elbow's increasing screams of protest. As I lay back down next to him, I felt him shift away, but pretended not to notice. Instead, I told him what had been bugging me for several solar cycles.

"I've only wanted to be your friend," I said, still making sure to keep my voice low so I wouldn't wake anyone out of recharge. When he didn't comment, I pushed on, "I thought you were…cool. But also like me. Same height, same build, same ability." He scoffed and started to interrupt me, but I spoke over him. "I thought we could get along. But all you've ever done is scorn me."

I turned my helm and looked at him. He appeared utterly perplexed, and I found out why when he told me, "I didn't know you knew the word 'scorn'."

I glared at him, finally getting angry, and he offered up some of the answers I'd been craving.

"I don't hate you," he said softly, looking away. He stared at the ceiling. "I always just thought you were an idiot. Still do," he added, and I rolled my optics so as to avoid punching him.

"I'd be fine if you'd be nice to me," I mumbled. He said nothing. I didn't push it anymore; it was a gift from Primus that we'd even made it so long without yelling at each other. Or getting into a fistfight.

However, after a breem and a half, I was growing restless. Would he relent to my unasked request? I didn't count on a friendship anymore, but something other than hostility would be much appreciated.

I managed to make it the rest of the second breem before I asked, "Will you be nice to me?"

Silence. Great, we were going to play this game again.

"Wasp?" More silence, and I sighed. "Will you—"

I was cut off by his form suddenly looming over me. His optics glared down into my own shocked ones. He laid his servo on my chassis, and I shivered. What was he getting at?

"You want me to be nice to you?" he growled, and dragged his fingertips over my left windshield.

His meaning was clear, but apparently mine hadn't been. "No!" I cried, before clamping a servo over my own mouth. "No," I repeated, this time whispered through slightly parted fingers. My other servo grabbed his, halting his motions. "This is _not_ what I meant!"

He smirked down at me. Amazing how that horn-mouthpiece-thing didn't take away from his expression at all. I could see his mouth; clearly make out the tip of one fanged dental peeking out from behind his upper lip. It made me shiver.

"You think I didn't notice the way your systems locked up when I looked at you?" he asked. His faceplates were suddenly much closer to mine. One of us was giving off heat, and I hoped desperately that it wasn't me.

"I was surprised!" I insisted. Really, I'd never felt an attraction to Wasp. I'd thought he was cool, and wanted to be his friend, but nothing more.

His expression became cold again. I shivered once more, realizing too late that I was going to be stuck accepting his advances. Already his fingers were worming out of mine to trace light patterns on my chassis.

"You wanted me to be nice to you," he repeated, staring at me. I stared back, helpless. "It's this or nothing. Take it or leave it."

A foolish hope welled in my Spark. If I let him do this, could we be friends? Would he stop hating me? Worth a shot, I decided, though I didn't really believe it. And hey, it wasn't like it was going to hurt.

Slowly, I relaxed. I couldn't stop staring at him, even after he'd smirked in victory and looked away from me. His fingers were nimble, teasing me, dipping into seams and tickling wires I'd never been able to reach. He was obviously experienced, but somehow still clumsy. As if he knew where to touch, but had never _really_ done it before.

I lost my train of thought when he brushed an extra-sensitive bundle of wires. Oh, it felt good to have another bot pleasuring me again. Self-overload could only sustain a mech for so long.

It wasn't long before I shuttered my optics, and an even shorter time before I offlined them. In less than a breem, Wasp's servos had my cooling fans switching on, my body trembling beneath his touch.

"Wasp," I groaned, arching up when I felt his glossa on my chassis, tracing patterns, mapping me out. He licked my windshields, their frames, and my insignia. Then he brought himself up and set to work on the cords my neck. I stifled a cry by biting my bottom lip, hard. He licked, sucked, nipped, all up and down, searching, probing, until finally, he found what he was looking for: A small sensor node buried amongst some of the cords and wires. At my gasp and arch, he groaned softly and latched onto that spot, relentlessly pulling little whimpers and moans from me. I writhed beneath him, servos scrabbling at the green armor so like my own.

"Wasp, please," I whispered. Somehow, I'd managed to keep it in my processor that we had to be quiet.

He pulled back and looked at me. His optics were darkened with lust, and his own cooling fans were running. I could smell lubricant from both of our ports, and by the careful way he moved, I guessed that, like mine, his cord was straining against his codpiece.

For several astroseconds, we just stared at each other, struggling to keep our bodies in check. Then I whimpered out "please" again, and the spell was broken. All of his restraint, his desire to tease, shattered. I saw it happen in his optics. He gave a soft snarl and nodded before attacking my body with his mouth again. I don't know how, but that mouthpiece never once got in his way.

I felt his fingers on my hips, digging into more seams, teasing. Yet his haste was noticeable. He worked frantically, pushing and prodding until he found my most sensitive spots, then attacking them rather roughly. Soon I was arching helplessly off the berth, craving the removal against my pelvic armor. My own fingers grabbed at the metal, intending to shed it off, but he stopped me. I growled softly and lifted my head, frustrated and needy, but the look in his eyes had me complying. I pulled my servos away.

I was drowning in sensation. Pleasure, frustration, need, twinges of pain. He nipped his way up my left thigh, ignored the apex, and back down my right one. The whole process seemed to take eons, because he stopped to lick and suck lightly at every little bite mark, soothing away any kind of pain. As soon I'd relaxed in pleasure, he moved on, nipping again.

The constant back-and-forth of it all had me so on edge my whole frame was shaking. I heard a slight rattling from my armor. The buzzing of my circuitry was loud in my ears. I was half-afraid, half-excited that we were going to wake up one of our fellow cadets.

Then, suddenly, his mouth was on my codpiece, pressed between my legs, and I no longer gave a slag.

"Wasp!" I cried, my voice trailing off into a whimper when he pulled away. I was shaking worse than ever, and so desperate for release I could almost feel fluid collecting in the corners of my optics.

"Be quiet," he commanded. I almost told him to slag off. Almost. But then his fingers hooked into the seams of my pelvic armor, unlatching it, and I decided to hold my glossa.

Though our cooling fans were practically screaming, our intakes heaving, we both managed to keep ourselves hushed. My vocal processor had offlined itself (at his command, apparently) and I propped myself up on my elbow again, watching him. I lifted my hips the minimal amount to allow him to slide my codpiece off, feeling my faceplates heat up. A wave of scent rushed up at me; I was all but dripping from my port. In the dim lighting, I could see the self-satisfied smirk on Wasp's face. Once again, I fought back the urge to punch him.

Now that we'd advanced to the next step, you'd think he'd be quick and get it over with. It was obvious how badly I needed it. But no, the stupid little malfunction hadn't finished teasing me yet.

I watched as he brushed just the very tips of his fingers up the length of my port, then the length of my cord. It shivered almost violently, pushing my hips down and lifting them up at the same time. It was a silent plea, but a clear one: Touch me, somewhere, anywhere I don't care. Just do it.

Slowly, he lifted his optics to mine. We stared at each other again, though his fingers didn't stop their light, maddening touches. Then he shifted, and I thought for a moment that he was reaching down to remove his own pelvic armor. I experienced a moment of sudden fear and doubt; he was going to interface all the way with me?

I hadn't realized I'd tensed until it bled out of me when he settled himself between my legs. He hadn't been reaching down to undo his pelvic armor; he'd been reaching down to steady himself as he got comfortable.

Once more he looked up to meet my gaze. I could still make out his smirk.

Then suddenly my cord was encased in the warmth of his servo, and his mouth had disappeared. My elbow slid out from under me, forcing me to lie flat on my back. Wave after wave of sensation washed through me, and I was glad my voice capacitor had offlined itself.

Oh, Primus, his glossa was a wonderful thing. He was creating delicious swirling patterns around my port, lapping up any leaking lubrication, and still managing to tease me. The servo on my cord remained still, wrapped around the base. No matter how much I bucked and writhed, it wouldn't move.

I was sure my processor was going to split. He was too good; he knew just where to touch, what to do to make me feel the most pleasure. But, at the same time, he was slagging determined to keep me from overloading. His touches were not intended to give me _that_ much pleasure. He was enjoying his power over me, his ability to keep me on edge.

When I couldn't take it anymore, felt like I was going to shake myself apart with all my trembling, I forced my vocal processor back online. There was a bit of soft static is it rebooted and some involuntary whimpers slipped free of my hold on it.

Then, as softly as I could manage, with as much raw desire as I could put into it, I said, "Wasp, _please_. I can't take anymore. I…need it."

He stilled for a moment, then lifted his head. I lifted mine, too, knowing that he was looking at me. Our optics met once again, but not for long. He assessed the look etched into my faceplates, the dimness of my optics, the physical heaving of my chassis as my intakes frantically tried to pull in enough air for my fans to cycle.

Then, with a curt nod, he dipped back down. This time, however, he didn't tease me. No, _this_ time, he shoved his whole glossa into my port. At the same time, he tightened his grip on my cord, and pulled his servo up. The effect was enough to make me slam my helm into the berth, offline my vocal processor to keep from screaming, and arch my whole back strut while pushing my hips down.

With a silent growl, I dimly noted that he'd been _planning_ that. The fragger had been waiting for me to beg for it, and he'd known all along what he was going to do once I did.

I had enough time to swear to myself I'd get him back before he pulled his glossa out, then shoved it back in, repeating the tug upwards on my cord as he did. All thought was wiped from my processor. I was reduced to a quivering heap of scrap metal, arching and bucking and writhing into his touches.

Slowly, I felt that familiar heat building in the area of my interface units and Spark. It pulsed faster and faster, flooding me with warmth, keeping almost in time with Wasp's glossa-thrusts and jerking of his servo. As he worked me higher and higher, it became a frantic pounding over every one of my sensors. Then just before I toppled over the edge, he stilled and pulled away. Just enough so that he was no longer touching me in any way.

I beat my fisted servos on the berth and brought my optics online once again to glare down at him. I was feeling almost murderous by this point. Only one more thrust-jerk, and I'd have overloaded.

He just lay there, settled between my legs, ignoring the heat rising from me in waves, the smoke beginning to curl up from my circuits. He gave me a fake smile and rested his chin on the palm of his right servo. As if neither of us was almost overheating. As if we were friends, having a pleasant chat.

I started to force my vocal processor back online. I had every intention of demanding that he finish what he started before I kicked his skid plates into the next millennia.

But he made a motion for me to keep quiet and began to move himself closer to my interfacing units once more. So I decided to oblige, not wanting to risk angering him enough to _really_ leave me on the brink.

As I watched, he shifted most of his weight onto his left elbow. He moved his right arm, but I couldn't see what he was doing. It was only when I felt a finger press into the opening of my port that I pieced it together. Rather hurriedly, I offlined my optics and laid back down, trembling, waiting.

I thought I heard him chuckle, but the next astrosecond he was pushing his finger into me, and nothing mattered anymore.

My world dissolved into a haze of pleasure, silent whimpers, and automatic bucks and grinds. He pumped his digit in and out slowly, increasing speed every three or four thrusts, all the while searching for the spot I knew he would inevitably find. His other servo was lightly pumping up and down the shaft of my cord, always flawlessly in time with his finger. I'd never experienced this kind of pleasure before, and I didn't think I could ever again interface without it.

Just as I was working back towards that peak, Wasp found what he was looking for. Deep inside me, a bundle of sensors wrapped up in a few thin wires. The "sweet spot" every bot has, though its position varies between us.

I released a silent scream and arched myself up. One brush against it had me careening to the edge of overload again. He held me there, still thrusting his finger in and out. But now he was moving slowly, and carefully avoiding my sweet spot. He increased the speed and tightness of the jerks on my cord. The combined pleasure made sure I stayed on edge, though the way it was so erratic kept me from finding release. My squirming became more and more desperate, my body showing Wasp how badly I needed it.

I sensed his gaze on me, and, desperate to convey my need, I onlined my optics one last time and looked down at him. He was sitting up on his knees, but his mouth… Oh, Primus, his mouth was hovering right over the tip of my cord. My intakes stuttered for a moment in the equivalent of a gasp, and a violent shiver racked my frame. I felt the beginning pulses of my overload beat through my systems.

Silently and slowly, keeping his gaze locked on mine, he took me into his mouth. _All_ of me. I didn't even bother to wonder where he'd learned to do that, just appreciated that he'd applied his skills on me.

"Wasp," I mouthed, forgetting that my vocal processor was still offline.

He smirked. Around my cord. I don't know how, and I don't really care, 'cause it was slagging hot. Another pulse of my overload shot through me, stronger than before. Maybe he sensed it, maybe he was finally ready to let me find my release. Either way, he did the most amazing thing, something that made me overload harder than I ever had before.

He sucked his way back up the shaft of my cord, _hard_, and, at the same nanoklik he reached the tip, he thrust his finger into my port, striking my sweet spot dead-on with enough force to make my whole body jerk up the berth a little.

My helm once more slammed against the berth, but the pain was drowned in the boiling sea of completely pure pleasure raging through my body. I smelled smoke and felt my systems overheat, and though that should have offlined my processor, my overload seemed able to keep me conscious. I screamed silently over and over again, my body shaking and jerking, bucking up into the mouth still sucking the length of my cord. Wasp let me thrust into his mouth, timing it with the curling of his finger. He rubbed my sweet spot again and again, prolonging my pleasure, drawing out my bliss as I released mech fluid into his mouth and all over his servo.

As my overload began to ebb, my Spark's pulses no longer frantic in its chamber, Wasp pulled away. He paused to clean the mess I'd made of myself, and then settled next to me on the berth. I brought my optics back online and looked over at him. With a frown, I noticed he was once again perched on the very edge, as far away from me as possible. He was facing me, though, which I considered an improvement.

I gave myself time to recover. It was a wonder I hadn't offlined. My joints were still smoking, as if angry at me for not following the laws of physics. I shook my helm, cycling deep intakes. The air around us was heated.

When I'd recovered enough to sit up and face Wasp, I saw that his optics were offlined. If it weren't for the way his cooling fans were still struggling, his intakes irregular, I would have thought he'd fallen into recharge. As it was, he looked like he was trying to fool me into thinking he had. I frowned again and edged closer.

I reached out to touch him, but before I'd even made contact, he said, "Don't."

I looked at him in surprise. His optics were online, and he was glaring at me, though he had a haunted look that I'd never seen before. I brushed it off as something along the lines of him being traumatized by bringing me to overload.

"What?" I asked. I rested my servo on his arm, and he flinched. Barely, but I noticed.

"Don't," he repeated, more firmly. "Don't touch me. I'm fine."

I shuttered my optics a few times, wondering if something in my processor had short-circuited. He scoffed at the look on my face and offlined his optics again.

"But...why?" I asked. I left my hand where it was, though my fingers where tracing light, somewhat awkward patterns over his arm.

He pulled away from me, causing me to frown once more. "Because I'm fine," he said. There was an edge to his voice, but I couldn't place what exactly it was. "I don't need you to overload me."

I glared at him, offended, not caring that he couldn't see me. "I _want_ to overload you."

He tensed, then brought his optics online and looked at me. He wore that same perplexed expression as earlier. "You...?"

"Want to overload you, yeah," I said, relaxing a bit. The glare melted from my face, replaced by what I knew was a soft look. He remained tense and silent, staring at me as if my Autobot insignia had suddenly become a Decepticon one. "What, is that a problem?" I couldn't keep the attitude out of my voice.

It seemed that very attitude brought him back to his senses. He sneered at me, propping himself on his elbow. At the same time, he brought himself away from the edge of the berth. Good, that meant he was going to let me touch him.

"Not a problem, no," he said, then narrowed his optics. "But don't think you'll be sticking your cord in me."

I quickly shuttered my own optics again, surprised. Then I shook my helm, smiling a little. "I hadn't planned to."

If he was surprised by this, he succesfully hid it behind his usual aloof mask. He just stared at me, waiting, and I felt my faceplates heat up. To buy a little time, I grabbed my codpiece and shoved it back on, making sure all the clasps were done up properly.

He scoffed, that rough, static-filled sound again. I looked at him, and he gave me an exasperated glare.

"If you're going to touch me," he said, "do it. Otherwise I'm going into recharge."

I frowned once again. His fans had indeed stopped working so hard, and his intakes were regular again. He could go into recharge if he wanted to.

Determined to make him feel the same pleasure he'd brought to me, I nodded and kneeled over him. He looked away from me, seeming uncomfortable. I cursed myself for being so awkward, and then threw away all nervousness. I didn't want to seem afraid. I'd done this before, and besides, our bodies had to be at least similar. So maybe some of the things he'd done to me would have the same effect when turned around and given back.

Smirking a little, I laid my servo on his chassis. He shivered, almost imperceptibly, and offlined his optics. I felt bolder, knowing that he wasn't going to watch my every move, and trailed my fingers down to the V-shaped stripe on the lower half of his chassis. Lightly, with one fingertip, I traced its shape, admiring his body as I did. It was less bulky than mine, though not by much. The darker shade of his paint made him seem slimmer, and that V said he was aerodynamic. We had almost the exact same alt form, born of our similar builds.

I was brought out of my thoughts by him shifting. One glance told me his optics were still offline, and his mouth was open slightly. His intakes had become a little ragged, but he was making a valiant effort to hide it.

Smirking, I leaned down, letting my mouth hover just above the stripe that was apparently so sensitive. My servos wandered over the rest of his chassis, dipping into seams, teasing wires and cords found there. It wasn't long before he was shifting regularly, and I recognized it as his way of squirming. His intakes were a little more labored.

Suddenly, I touched my glossa to his stripe. He gave a quiet moan that went straight to my interfacing units and arched up. I smirked again and slowly traced the shape with my glossa, feeling him tremble beneath me. He didn't make any kind of noise again, and I knew he was holding back. I wanted to turn him into the same quivering mess I'd been, so I redoubled my efforts. Now I placed light kisses and managed to suck a little, licking the same spot I'd sucked. My fingers continued to dip into every little crevice they could find, searching for any kind of weak spot.

I became so absorbed in my work that it was a bit of a shock when my servos did finally find a sensitive spot. It was up on his shoulder, just beneath the edge of his armor, nestled between two particularly thick cords. A little bundle of wires that made him tremble and arch up a little. He even whimpered, though it sounded like he'd tried as hard as he could to hold it back.

Proud of myself, I teased it with my fingers. His intakes hitched a few times, becoming more irregular each time, and his cooling fans began to work harder. I kissed and licked my way up his chassis, pausing to give special attention to his insignia. He groaned softly, and his servo came up to grip the back of my helm. My intakes hitched in surprise, but I wasn't objecting.

Slowly, I made my way to the spot still trapped between my finger and thumb. The closer I got, the slower I moved, spending more and more time on one spot of his armor before moving on to the next. I wanted to touch him with my left servo, but that was busy holding me up so that I wasn't laying on him.

Wasp growled in annoyance and gave my helm a little push towards where my servo was. I chuckled softly and he growled again. Deciding not to press it, I leaned up and replaced my fingers with my mouth and glossa. It took me an astrosecond or two to find the spot again, but when I did, I was rewarded with another groan and arch. His fingers gripped the back of my helm tighter, then moved up and began to play with the little horns. I shivered, my intakes hitching, and I knew without looking that he was smirking. He tweaked the sensitive metal, pulling another shiver from me, and it was my turn to growl.

Sitting up, I glared down at him. His hand fell away from my helm, but his optics remained offline.

"Why are you touching me?" I demanded.

"I'm a bad bottom," he said simply, shrugging one shoulder. "I can't just take it."

"Well learn to," I growled. "This is about you. I had my turn."

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He looked surprised and even a little embarrassed. I took it as him agreeing.

Getting an idea, I placed both servos on his chassis, hoisted myself up, and straddled his hips. His intakes hitched, whether in surprise or pleasure or both, I don't know. But his servos flew to my thighs and gripped them tightly, so I figured he wasn't really complaining.

Leaning down, I pressed my chassis to his and buried my faceplates in his shoulder again. I quickly relocated the sensor node, and set to work sucking and licking it. My servos, meanwhile, busied themselves with once more mapping out his body, searching for more sensitive spots. I found a few, one on his left wrist joint, the other on his right side, halfway between his chassis and hip.

Beneath me, he became more and more unrestrained, squirming openly and arching up. I abandoned the sensor node in his shoulder and began attacking his neck. Now I was nipping, growing a little rougher in my own heightened arousal. I felt my cord once again straining against my codpiece, and was glad I'd replaced it; if Wasp knew I was getting off on this as much as I was, he would have insisted on touching me back. Somehow, I knew that as surely I as knew my own name.

One particular pinch of the node in his side, however, had him bucking up. The angle of this pressed the hot metal of his codpiece, right over his cord, into the rapidly heating metal of my own pelvic armor. I groaned and shifted so that my covered port was over his covered cord, and pushed down. The result was a hitched intake and soft, needy groan. He bucked up to meet me, and I gave him the same reaction, just without the needy bit. I was in this for him now, not for me.

But try as I might to focus on his pleasure, we still slipped into a dance of bucking and grinding that soon had us both worked up enough that our chassis were physically heaving with the effort to take in enough air to keep ourselves cool. I'd already overheated once tonight, and was rapidly working back up to that temperature. I felt an aching deep inside of me that had nothing to do with hot components, and decided it was time to stop our dance.

As I slipped off of him, I heard him groan at the loss. I shivered, but ignored the pulsing of the sensor nodes beneath my pelvic armor, and instead kissed my way down his body until I was settled between his legs. I tapped his codpiece, smirking when he arched up slightly. I could have sworn I heard him actually whimper as I continued to tease him, dipping my fingers into the seams of his pelvic armor. Slowly, one by one, I undid the clasps that held his armor in place. Out of the corner of my optic, I saw Wasp bring one servo up to cover his faceplates, and wondered if he was honestly embarrassed.

I didn't give voice to my thoughts, though, instead returning my attention to the task at hand. All the clasps were open, and I slipped my fingers beneath his armor. Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his hips, and I pulled it off, setting it next to him. Then I gasped, staring at his interfacing units.

His cord was completely out, with mech fluid already leaking from the tip. His port was lubricated enough that I probably could have taken him right then, without any preparation. The thought had me biting back a groan and fighting with myself to keep my restraint in check. He'd made it clear he didn't want me to link up with him, so I wasn't going to ask for it.

Instead, I settled myself down on my midsection, touching him lightly. I was still intent on teasing him, but I was also afraid of breaking him. He looked oddly vulnerable without his pelvic armor, and the way his servo still covered his face, I had a feeling he felt the same way.

I wanted to make him forget any kind of uneasiness, so I dipped my helm and slowly traced around his port with the tip of my glossa. I heard his intakes hitch several times, and he pressed his hips down, clearly eager for more. One of his servos came down to the back of my helm, trying to press me closer, but I grabbed it and pinned it down.

He gave a soft cry and wrenched it back as if I'd dripped acid on it. Afraid I'd hurt him or something, I dipped the tip of my glossa into his port, still teasing him, but giving more pleasure than before. The tension he'd gathered in a nanoklik slowly bled out as he relaxed into the sensations I was causing in him.

When I felt I'd made up for any harm I'd done, I went back to cleaning up his lubrication, just as he'd done to me. The fingers of my left servo traced light patterns up and down his cord. I relished in the feeling of Wasp bucking and writhing and nearly overheating beneath me.

Then I heard something that nearly shattered the frail control I had on myself. As he bucked into my hand and mouth, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against the hard berth, Wasp moaned, "Bumble_bee_…!"

I shivered violently. It took all of my will power to not sit up, remove my codpiece, and slam into him. He sounded so slagging _hot_ when he opened up and moaned like that. I wanted to hear it again and again.

My left servo wrapped around his cord tightly, but not enough to hurt. He bucked and moaned again, wordlessly. That wouldn't do; I wanted to hear my designation fall from his lips. So I did the same thing he'd done to me: I shoved the full length of my glossa into his port at the same nanoklik that I jerked my servo up his cord. He gave a stifled cry; it sounded like he'd shoved his fist into his mouth.

Over and over again, I repeated that act, feeling him slowly tense. I could _taste_ his overload coming, because his lubrication obtained a kind of sweet, oily flavor. More mech fluid dribbled from the tip of his cord. I pulled him to the edge of overload and held him there. Just before he crashed over, I pulled away. I got the effect I'd been seeking.

"Bumble_bee_!" he cried out softly, frustrated. He onlined his optics and glared at me. I have him the same fake smile he'd given me, and waited for his systems to calm down. He reached down and stared trying to touch himself, but I gently grabbed his servos and stopped him. Whether it was the look in my optics or the fact that he wanted to avoid a confrontation, he obeyed my silent request and pulled away.

When his trembling became less noticeable, I propped myself on my left elbow, again like he'd done. The first finger of my right servo touched the edge of his port, and he jumped, as if surprised. He looked down at me, a little apprehensively, but didn't stop me, so I slowly slipped my finger in. I positioned myself so I was on my knees, but sitting back far enough to be able to comfortably bend over and suck on his cord. I think he knew I planned to do that, because he bucked up into my hand, whimpering softly, eager for it. But I wasn't ready to give him that much pleasure just yet.

Instead, I focused on finding his sweet spot. I prodded and rubbed, feeling my way around his port. I worked from the deepest point I could reach and forward, slowly pulling my finger out as I searched. I knew I'd find it eventually; bots can't hide their reaction, and _every_ bot has one.

When I did finally find it, I was rewarded with an unrestrained cry that threatened to wake the entire platoon. Wasp arched his back strut, pushing his hips down into my finger. He was desperate for more, and seeing him that way almost made me overload.

With my finger halfway in, I rubbed continuously, but lightly, still determined to tease. His sweet spot was located on the roof of his port, nestled amongst several cords of varying thickness. It was a small sensor node, well hidden, and that was probably why it was so sensitive.

Slowly, his quivering became more and more pronounced. I could smell that sweetness in his lubricants now, and decided that it was time. He'd been on edge long enough, and I really didn't think I could hold myself back much longer.

So, leaning forward, I positioned his cord at my lips. I looked up at him, but he was so absorbed in the throes of his pleasure that he hadn't noticed. I wanted to have the same effect he'd had, so I whispered his name. My lips brushed the tip of his cord as I did so, and with a great shiver, he onlined his optics and looked down at me.

"Bumblebee," he groaned, a pleading look in his gaze that I never thought I'd see. I waited. After several astroseconds, he managed to whisper, "please."

Smirking, I nodded and took him into my mouth. I'd never been able to fit the whole length in, but I took in as much as I could. At the same time, I pressed my fingertip hard against his sweet spot and rubbed it. He stuffed his servo into his mouth and offlined his optics, letting his head fall back on the berth. I smirked around his cord—oh, so I could do it, too—enjoying how similar we were.

Shuttering my optics so I could focus on the task at hand, I sucked and licked around the length of his shaft, bobbing my helm up and down. The whole time I rubbed relentlessly against his sweet spot, feeling and listening as he drew closer and closer to overload. I considered pulling away at the last moment again, but then he gave a strangled cry that sounded suspiciously like "Yes, please!" and I decided against it. In fact, I redoubled my efforts, sucking harder, faster, keeping it somewhat in time with my rubbing on his sweet spot.

After only another thirty astroseconds, he overloaded. I assume his vocal processor finally offlined itself, because he was silent, but if the way his body jerked and trembled was anything to go by, it was pretty intense. He released several spurts of his mech fluid into my mouth, and I felt his port lubricate all over my servo. His fluid tasted much like his port, just a little less sweet. I swallowed it all, listening to his intakes stutter and heave.

I waited until the worst of his jerking and trembling had stopped before I pulled away. He gave a soft whimper when I released him from my mouth and pulled my finger out. It reminded me of my own buzzing circuitry, my renewed need for release.

With a soft curse, I threw myself onto the berth next to him and unclasped my own codpiece. With hurried fingers I pulled it off, then wrapped my servo around my cord. I brought myself to overload with just a few tight-gripped jerks. My fluid released all over my midsection, but I didn't care. I was too busy reeling from everything that had happened.

"Holy slag," I whispered. I looked to my left and was startled to see Wasp staring at me. He hadn't even moved to replace his pelvic armor yet. He was just…staring.

"…Wasp?" I ventured, tentative. His optics shuttered and focused. He'd been in a daze, apparently.

And then, shockingly, I saw him smile. A true smile. It was only there for a few nanokliks, but still. Then he sat up and replaced his armor, ignoring the fact that his port was a sticky mess. I replaced my own, cleaned my midsection with a servo, and then we lay together in silence.

I was just starting to drift into recharge a few cycles later when I heard him say softly, "Thanks."

I onlined my optics and shuttered them a few times, driving away the dregs of unconsciousness. Then I looked over to Wasp. His own optics were online, but focused rather determinedly on the ceiling.

"Uhh…you're welcome?" I said, phrasing it as a question because I really didn't know what he was thanking me for.

He glanced at me, and I felt a slight heat emanate from his faceplates. He was blushing. I shuttered my optics again. Was I dreaming?

"You…" He hesitated, a look of doubt coming to his features. Then he pressed on, as if he felt the need to get it off his Spark. "You're the first bot…to ever…use your glossa or mouth on me."

I stared at him, surprised. That explained why he'd reacted so strongly, something I hadn't really thought much of at the time.

"Why I am the first?" I asked before I could stop myself.

His only response was to roll so that his back faced me. He didn't scoot to the very edge of the berth, and I smiled. I knew I wasn't going to get an answer tonight, but that was okay. I was happy.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Second chapter! =D Beware: Ahead lies sticky and minor plot progression.

Time measurements: vorn = 80 days; astrosecond = still self-explanatory; cycle = 1 minute; solar cycle = 1 day (so 14 solar cycles is the same as 2 weeks); nanoklik = nansecond

-------------------

I woke up the next morning feeling sticky, but more relaxed than I'd been in vorns. I hadn't even realized I'd been slowly acquiring tension until it was bled out of me in one night. Like a poison that slowly locks up your systems, and I'd been delivered the fast-acting antidote.

With a small smile, I turned my helm to look at the bot still slumbering next to me. We had about fifteen cycles until we were called to fall in at the ends of our berths, but I'd always woken earlier than the rest of the platoon. Not much, but enough to enjoy the silence and stillness of early morning. I could hear the deep, regular intakes of my fellow cadets, and it had a strange calming effect it had never had before. Usually it annoyed me—they were breaking the precious early morning silence, however minutely—but today it just made me shutter my optics and smile a little more.

...who was I becoming?

The thought came out of nowhere, and it made me frown. One night, one oral interface with an annoying little mech, and suddenly I was at peace with everything. That didn't seem right to me.

So I turned my helm and glared at the offending bot. He looked peaceful in recharge, and part of me wished he were this quiet more often. He wore the hint of a smile, as if he'd fallen asleep with one settled on his faceplates.

I smiled again.

Then caught myself and frowned once more. It was _Bumblebee_. He was a malfunction, not something to smile at. Laugh at for _being_ a malfunction, yes, but not smile _tenderly _at for no apparent reason.

Once again—voluntarily this time—I wondered who I was becoming.

I still hadn't found the answer when the morning siren blared, shrill and harsh. I leapt out of the berth, made sure there was no dried lubrication on my armor anywhere, and stood in my proper place. I was ready for Sentinel's arrival even before most of my platoon had had enough time to groan and roll over. Vaguely, just because of my nature, I hoped Bumblebee would be slow and fail to get into position in time. But no, that hope died when I sensed him next to me. He was the second one out of bed. Longarm was third, Ironhide fourth, and Bulkhead was last. We were all ready for our Sergeant when he came strolling in.

As usual, he inspected us with a critical eye. He spouted out the usual insults, calling us worthless, ungrateful malfunctions and the like. Typical boot camp stuff. But he found nothing out of place that morning.

Until he came to Bumblebee. He had inspected me already, found everything in order, and moved on to the stupid bot. He almost passed him, but then noticed something that made my Spark skip a pulse.

"You! Yellow glitch-head!" As usual he got right in the offending mech's faceplates and screamed at him, but I give the bot credit; he didn't flinch.

"Yes, sir?" he answered, unable to keep the curious note out of his voice.

"What is _this_?"

I sneaked a peek and saw Bumblebee look down at his stomach, where Sentinel was pointing. I followed his gaze, and this is where my Spark skipped a pulse.

There was a smudge of light purple on his black plating, just barely noticeable. I had to offline my vocal processor for an astrosecond to keep from groaning aloud. Why hadn't he checked himself?

"I, uh..." Bumblebee scrambled for an answer; I could almost see his processor working. Sentinel waited, but certainly not patiently. "I...don't know, sir."

The sergeant raised an optic ridge. I was thankful he was so absorbed in the chance of Bumblebee having broken a rule; it allowed me (and Ironhide, who was next to us and could see everything) to watch openly. Slowly, the blue-and-orange mech licked his finger, reached out, and touched the purple smudge. Then he brought the finger back to his mouth and tasted it. He gave a small shudder and grimaced, then rounded on…me.

"You!" he shouted. I flinched in surprise.

"Y-yes, sir?" I scowled to myself. I hadn't stuttered in a long time. Or flinched, for that matter.

"Do you know anything about this?" demanded Sentinel, waving his finger at me. "Did you have anything to _do_ with it?"

"No, of course not," I said, casting a disgusted glance to the yellow mech. It wasn't an emotion I entirely felt towards him anymore, but it was one I'd expressed so often that I could flawlessly recreate it. I hoped I could talk the both of us out of this by pretending the energon was there because he'd bled it, not lubricated it. "I wouldn't harm a fellow cadet, sir. However annoying."

Sentinel raised an optic ridge again. "I think you know perfectly well that it's not from a wound," he said. He didn't bother to keep his voice down.

I shuttered my optics in mock surprise. Then adopted a deeper look of disgust. "Ugh, _no_!" I said, sounding revolted. At least I could save myself. "Sir, with all due respect, do you _really_ think I'd do that with _Bumblebee_?"

Our commander seemed to consider this, then shook his head. "No, I suppose not." He looked back at the yellow mech, who was staring at the ground in shame. "Well, malfunction," he said, again not bothering to keep his voice down. "Next time you feel like overloading yourself, at least make sure you clean up properly."

Bumblebee nodded miserably. He knew the kind of slag he was going to get for a long time from Ironhide and me. The thought of tormenting him didn't appeal to me as much as it used to. Not that it had lost its appeal completely—oh, no. It just didn't seem quite _as_ fun.

"You're sentenced to oil changing and washroom scrubbing duties for the next fourteen solar cycles," announced Sentinel. He looked proud of himself for having thought of it all on his own. "You're to do it on your own time, but I expect it to be done _perfectly_. And you're to be spotless at curfew each night. Got that, malfunction?"

He didn't even give Bumblebee time to answer before he turned and smartly marched from the room.

-------**********-------

The rest of the day was spent doing drills and chores. Ironhide and I teased Bumblebee every chance we got, but he never rose to the bait. Instead, he would just give me a weird look, one I couldn't quite interpret, before turning around and walking away.

Bulkhead, as usual, was on his side, comforting him. I had the privilege of overhearing one of his little mini pep talks.

"C'mon, cheer up, little buddy," he said, patting Bumblebee on the shoulder. The small bot's knee joints nearly gave out; the energon farmer really didn't know his own strength. It made me really glad he hadn't sought me out to try to be _my_ friend. "It's not that bad! Only fourteen solar cycles. And don't listen to Sentinel, it's not bad to do…what you did." He was babbling on, either clueless or uncaring of who was listening. "I mean, everyone does it! Even I—"

"Okay!" interrupted Bumblebee. He looked slightly ill at the thought of what the rest of that sentence was going to be. "Okay, Bulkhead, I get it. Just…lay off, all right? I don't wanna think about it anymore."

Somehow, his gaze managed to find mine while it was casting around randomly—looking for something to change the subject with, no doubt. We stared at each other, and once again I found his expression unreadable. It was unsettling.

Then Ironhide, blessed Ironhide, walked up and ruined the moment. He grinned at the sight of the yellow bot, whose gaze was now directly coldly at him.

"What'cha doin', _malfunction_?" he teased, grinning as he stopped next to me. "Trying to think of new things to overload to?"

I had to admit, Ironhide's jabs were rather…pathetic. There was a reason I did most of the talking and he just laughed. It was simple, required little processor power. He really wasn't much brighter than Bulkhead.

But he seemed almost oblivious to the way his intended insults were just bouncing off of Bumblebee. He just kept going and going, even after the yellow mech had started outright ignoring him. But eventually he ran out of steam, and then he turned to me, seeking my wit.

"What do _you_ have to say about it, Wasp?" he asked. He was grinning eagerly.

I looked back to Bumblebee, and noticed that he'd stilled with his back to me. He seemed tensed, as if expecting pain. I frowned. I didn't like that image.

"Nothing," I said. The three mechs in my presence gaped at me; Bumblebee even turned around to be able to see me more clearly.

"What?" asked Ironhide.

Now I was inexplicably annoyed. "I don't have anything to say about it," I said, speaking slowly. "We had our fun. I'm done teasing."

Everyone still seemed rather dumbfounded. Was this really that shocking? I felt defensive, and I didn't know why. I couldn't stop myself from saying, "It's just getting annoying, okay? Primus."

Seeking a new topic, (and refusing to acknowledge the similarity between my position and Bumblebee's earlier one) I glared at the stupid yellow mech in the center of all this and snapped, "Don't you have _duties_ to attend to?"

"Oh, slag!" he said, slapping his forehelm. Without a backward glance, he darted off to fulfill his sentence before curfew was called.

"C'mon," I muttered to Ironhide. "Let's get out of here." I really didn't want to be stuck in Bulkhead's presence without his 'little buddy' to act as a blunter between us.

And I _really_ didn't like that faint knowing look in his optics.

-------**********-------

Curfew came all too soon, and Bumblebee only barely made it back in time. We all stood at the foot of our berths, like good little cadets, and awaited Sentinel's arrival. The little bot next to me was busy trying to scrub a spot of oil off his chassis. I couldn't help but scoff and roll my optics.

"What?" he demanded, irritable.

"Didn't you do the oil changing _first_?" I sneered at him, resisting the urge to fold my arms over my own spotless chassis.

I swore some actual color entered his grey faceplates. He continued to scrub at the stubborn spot with his thumb, pausing to lick the digit every now and then. He didn't deign a response to my question.

I smirked, sensing my victory. Just as I turned back to face forward, our beloved sergeant walked in. Bumblebee gave a soft curse and abandoned his attempts. A quick glance told me he'd only succeeded marginally.

As in the morning, inspections went smoothly until Sentinel reached the yellow bot. Everyone was tense; we'd all seen him trying to clean himself, and we all hoped that our commander wouldn't notice.

It was a vain hope; Sentinel's optics were drawn to it as soon as he faced Bumblebee. The tension grew thicker. Now it was a matter of what the sergeant would do.

He leaned forward, getting right in the small mech's faceplates again. I felt a flash of pity for him; the kid just couldn't catch a break today. But with Sentinel's next words, the pity disappeared much in the same way a dying star does: drawing inward before exploding violently.

"You call this spotless?" he hissed. Bumblebee didn't respond; we all knew it was rhetorical. "You disobeyed a direct order. Now everyone will suffer."

He drew back and glared at each of us in turn. None of us met his gaze.

"Single file line!" We all hastened to comply, lining up like we did for drills. "Now drop and give me twenty!" he barked.

In perfect sync, the five of us dropped to our hands and knees, transformed into our alt modes, and then back to our bipedal forms. Then back to our alts. Twenty times we did it, and by the end of it, everyone was eager to go into recharge. It wasn't like transformation drills were particularly hard, it's just that we'd all had a long, grueling day at boot camp. So those extra exercises really didn't help anyone.

As we got back to our peds and took up our positions at the ends of our berths, Sentinel addressed Bumblebee.

"You will shower first thing in the morning, glitch-head. _Before_ the morning siren," he added, smirking. Then he aimed a low blow that, by the way Bumblebee flinched, I was sure hit its target. "I suppose that means if you decide to..._indulge_ yourself tonight, you won't have to worry about leaving any evidence for me to find. Consider it a favor you don't deserve."

Then the sergeant turned and strolled to the end of the ward. He called lights out, and we climbed into our berths. I thought I heard Ironhide snicker, and I was seized with a strong desire to punch him. My pity for Bumblebee had come back when I wasn't looking, and as soon as I recognized it, it ran and hid again.

There were the usual shuffling sounds of bots getting comfortable on their berths. Luxury was definitely not a first priority here; we were sleeping on little more than a glorified rock. Really, though, it wasn't that bad. At least it was a berth. Some mechs never even got that much.

A couple of breems passed in silence. Slowly, one by one, I heard my fellow cadets' intakes even and deepen as they drifted into recharge. All but one.

I waited. I knew it was coming, and that pretending to be in recharge wasn't going to stop him. He was a determined malfunction.

And then, about five cycles after Longarm had drifted into recharge (he was always the last to do so), he whispered, "Wasp?"

I ignored him.

He waited half a cycle and tried again. "Wasp?" Light, tentative. But curious.

I ignored him again.

This time he only waited a few astroseconds. And he sighed before he repeated my name. "Wasp." It was a statement this time. He sounded vaguely amused, and I pictured a hint of a smile on his faceplates.

I considered ignoring him a third time, but decided against it. He'd only keep saying my name. And that was going to have some unpleasant effects.

"What, Bumblebee?" I asked, trying to sound as annoyed as possible. It worked, sort of. He hesitated another whole cycle before he decided that an irritated me was worth dealing with to get his thoughts off his chassis.

"I...thanks. For today, when you told Ironhide to stop teasing me."

I was actually surprised. Had it really been taken like that? And he was really _thanking_ me for it? It took about forty-two astroseconds to sink in completely.

And then I responded in my famous Wasp way.

"I didn't do it for you," I said, snapping it out more than I'd meant to. "I was tired of him trying to be as cool as me. He was failing and making a fool of himself. And, more importantly, me."

He made an odd sound, like a rough exhale of his intakes. For some reason, I pictured a smile with it, and when he spoke, the amusement in his tone was only barely repressed.

"Right. Well thanks anyway."

I grunted softly. My way of telling him the conversation was over.

He apparently didn't get the message, because about three and a half cycles later, he spoke again. This time it was a much more dangerous and uncomfortable topic.

"Uh... About last night..." He sounded nervous, as if afraid I'd roll over and yell at him.

"You were dreaming," I said without thinking. Then I scowled, feeling a slight heat rise in my faceplates; where had that come from? I always thought things through before I said them. Why was today kicking my skid plates?

He chuckled softly. I knew he was shaking his head, though I couldn't see him.

"It wasn't a dream. I just wanted to say..." He hesitated. I swore to myself that if he thanked me again, I'd punch him. "Thanks."

I didn't punch him.

But I did grit my dentals, and it was through a clenched jaw that I spoke again. "There's nothing to thank me for," I growled. I really didn't want to talk about this.

"But there is," he insisted. "You gave me one of the best over—"

"Shut up."

"—loads of my life," he finished. Apparently there was no stopping him once he got started. Not unless I physically forced him to shut his mouth. Perhaps welding his jaw shut would do it.

"I don't care if I gave you the _last_ overload of your life," I said. My dentals were still gritted. "It's over. I don't want to talk about it."

End of the conversation, right?

Wrong. This was Bumblebee. It was never that easy.

"But…" He seemed at a loss for what to say. I could hear the pout in his voice.

I finally lost my temper and rolled over to face him. I propped myself up so that I was over him, asserting my dominance and hopefully intimidating him into listening to me.

"What are you, some kind of femme?" I demanded, glaring down at him. He stared back at me through slightly widened optics. "We don't need to talk about how we _feel_ about it, Bumblebee. It happened. It's _over_." I emphasized the last word, hoping he'd catch the hint.

Nope. As dense as ever.

"I'm _not_ a femme, Wasp," he huffed, before grinning devilishly. Or what I'm sure he thought was devilishly. "As you very well know."

I rolled my optics and moved to turn over again, but he stopped me. With his servo diving beneath the edge of my shoulder armor.

I shuddered and reached up to stop him, but before I could, he found it: my sensor node. He tweaked it, gently, sending another, harder shudder through me. I growled and grabbed his wrist. It was with a good deal of effort that I pulled his servo away from one of the only spots that could turn me into a quivering pile of scrap metal.

I heard him chuckle, and I knew I was not getting out of this tonight. But Pit, might as well try.

"Stop it," I demanded. I wouldn't look at him. "I want to go into recharge."

This time he laughed—actually _laughed_—softly. He used my grip on his wrist against me and tugged his arm back suddenly. The unexpected jerk had me toppling onto my back, and suddenly his faceplates were looming over mine. He smirked down at me.

Slag, when did he get so confident? I was beginning to regret giving into my nanoklik of desire the night before.

"With the way your core temperature's going up, I don't think you _really_ wanna go into recharge," he said, snickering softly. He was taking advantage of my moment of shock to touch me lightly, though he didn't pull his wrist from my servo.

Slowly, his fingers crept into that crevice and found the node again. He began touching it lightly, just brushing the tips of his blunt fingers over it. He was teasing me, and I hated that I had to admit it was working. My core temperature was indeed rising, my intakes becoming a little uneven. I shuttered my optics and let go of his wrist; what was the harm in letting him please me a little?

A little turned into a lot very suddenly when he took advantage of our positions and replaced his fingers with his glossa. I only barely stifled my moan, but I couldn't stop the way my back strut arched. It was still so new to me; it felt too good for me to resist. I wanted his glossa again. I wanted to be greedy.

With a soft, pleasured growl, I reached up and began teasing him. My servos skimmed the yellow of his chassis, fingertips tracing the frames of his windshields. He hesitated, surprised by my giving back while being pleasured (guess my 'bad bottom' comment from the previous night had been forgotten), and I took advantage of it.

In a span of time less than a Spark pulse, I'd pushed him onto his back and straddled his thin hips. He gasped and bit his bottom lip, arching his back strut a little. Just enough to have my intakes hitching again.

"Wasp," he murmured, staring up at me. His optics were already dim with lust, and my Spark swelled with pride. I couldn't help how much I loved seeing another mech give me a look like that from something _I'd_ done.

It always made me crave more. More reactions, more whispers that carried my name.

Smirking, I leaned forward and placed my lips to his neck. I'd automatically memorized the exact location of his sensor node the previous night, and now I'd strategically placed my mouth just above it. Close to his audio processor.

"You have to promise me something," I whispered, then ducked my helm down to lick the sensitive bundle of wires a few times. His intakes hitched, and his codpiece became warm beneath my own.

"Wh-what?" he asked, arching up again as he turned his helm to the side. The picture of wanton desire.

My cooling fans switched on.

A nanoklik later, I stated my demand, "If I can bring you to another powerful overload tonight, you must promise not to try to talk about what's happened and how you _feel_." I licked his sensor node again, faster and harder. I gave one gentle suck for good measure. "Promise?"

He hesitated for no more than a Spark pulse. Or the time it took me to lick his sensor node again, whichever.

"Promise," he groaned.

I grinned against his neck and began to kiss and lick it in earnest, paying attention to more than just his sensor node. I traced the cords with my glossa, tickled a few wires, and sucked a few key spots. Everything I did had him writhing and whimpering softly beneath me. His intakes were ragged, and his cooling fans had already switched on.

There was no way to avoid admitting that Bumblebee was slagging hot like this. He got me worked up to the point of almost overheating, and I'd only made it as far as his windshields. Teasing, licking, sucking, kissing. It was second nature to work around my mouthpiece; I'd (obviously) had to learn to do it at an early age. Now I barely noticed it as I used my glossa to pull more delightful whimpers and arches from the mech below me.

I heard my designation being called, and something in the tone made me online my optics—when had I offlined them?—and look up. Bumblebee was looking down his body at me, smiling softly. His intakes were heaving, though not enough to physically move his chassis. His armor was hot, and his optics were dim, just barely online. I wondered what could have been so important.

I waited, touching him with only my fingertips. He shuttered his optics for a few astroseconds, and seemed both surprised and disappointed that I'd stopped most of what I was doing. I waited for him to speak, but when he did, it wasn't a question I'd been expecting.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked. A small pout was tugging at his bottom lip; it made me want to suck on it, but I refrained.

"You said my name," I replied, tearing my gaze from his lip and returning it to his. I tilted my head a bit, frowning. "I thought you wanted to tell me something."

He smiled and shook his head. He seemed more intelligent in this state; the blank look had appeared for only a nanoklik, versus its usual five to ten astroseconds.

"No, Wasp," he said softly. My Spark skipped a pulse, and my frown deepened. His tone had caused that. I wasn't sure yet if I liked it or not. It was mostly frightening. "It's normal to do that, call your…partner's name during interface. I thought you knew that."

By the look on his faceplates, I figured out that he was thinking something I wasn't. I scowled and sat up a little.

"What do you mean by that?" I demanded. I'd automatically reverted to the defensive, and I couldn't quite pull myself back from it.

He seemed surprised by my tone. He glanced around, making sure everyone was still in recharge, and I made a note to keep my voice low from now on.

"You..." He looked back at me, shuttering his optics a few times. They were brighter now, clearer. More focused. "You said my name last night. A few times, actually." He seemed more perplexed than ever, though I didn't bother trying to speculate why.

I stiffened. Had I really called out his designation? I remembered him working me to the point where I said 'please,' because that had taken a great deal of effort to say, but I didn't remember saying his _name_.

My faceplates heated and I averted my gaze. I tended to lose track of the things I did and said in the heat of the moment. I'd forgotten how blank my memory could be.

"Oh," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say, and I really didn't want to continue this conversation. I sensed dangerous waters ahead, questions hovering on the edge of Bumblebee's consciousness. Questions I didn't want to answer.

So I shut him up, before he could get started, the only way I really knew how. I gave him a smirk, pushing away my uneasiness. He shuttered his optics yet again, and seemed to know I was planning something. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, I shoved my right servo between us and cupped his codpiece. Both of our intakes hitched, we both offlined our optics, and we both had to stifle moans. I was positioned so that I was pretty much sitting on my own servo, and every movement pleasured me the same way it pleasured Bumblebee.

Then he made it even better by bucking into my grasp, seeking more friction. I groaned softly, gritting my dentals as I rubbed his pelvic armor harder, faster, trying to satisfy him. When he did that, he caused me to ache with a sense of emptiness. It made it hard to not ask him to interface with me all the way.

He did it again, and my resolve nearly broke. I decided it was time to move on and climbed off of him a little. He whimpered and grabbed for me, meaning to keep me in place, and I smirked again. Then I undid the clasps of his pelvic armor and slipped it off of him. He shuddered, his intakes hitching a few times even as he squirmed on the berth.

Things were really getting heated now. His cord was out completely, his port was nearly dripping, and I was becoming more and more needy, desperate for my own release. But I couldn't bring myself to stop touching Bumblebee, and I refused to take it to the next level and actually interface with him. Too many emotional ties I wasn't willing to make.

Perhaps he sensed my desperation. Perhaps it was just because we really were very similar in processor and body. But either way, Bumblebee sat up a little and began to touch me. He worked with his fingers and glossa, determined to give back for what I'd done so far. I hadn't even had a chance to touch his interface units yet, but I wasn't really complaining.

His fingers were nimble, seeking and finding the sensor nodes in my wrist joint and side while his glossa ravaged the one in my shoulder. I couldn't help the way my intakes stuttered before they heaved and began to strain to bring in enough air for my cooling fans to cycle. Pleasure, hot and buzzing, raced through my body, leaving tingles in its wake. It went to my Spark and then rebounded outward, reaching my outermost circuits. Then it did another about-face and raced for my Spark again. This repeated in miniature with every brush of his fingers and glossa over my sensitive spots, and soon I was nothing but a whimpering pile of scrap metal writhing in Bumblebee's lap.

My mouth formed his name, but it was only on the ending syllable that my vocal processor caught up and gave voice to it, desperate and wanton, "—_bee_!"

He groaned my name, right in my audio processor, and the world dissolved. I slipped into the familiar haze of pleasure, concentrating on the things he was making me feel. I felt my lips forming words, but I couldn't tell what they were or if they ever had a sound. My fingers gripped his yellow armor like a lifeline, and somehow my mouth found its way to his neck. The words died away as I found his sensor node, and all efforts went into making him feel as good as I did. I'd completely forgotten about his exposed interfacing units.

I didn't know how much time passed. All I knew was the desperate need for more of his touch, for release. I was lost in my pleasure, in _his_ pleasure, unknowing and uncaring of the world around us.

Some reality came back to me when I felt his fingers scrabbling in the seams of my pelvic armor. I knew what he was doing and let him; I needed some form of relief. He opened all the clasps and somehow managed to get my codpiece off without me leaving his lap.

Then he shifted, and our cords brushed together.

We both moaned softly, and moved our hips so that the motion was repeated. Pleasure raced through me again, focusing more on my interfacing units than my Spark. I felt my cord begin to leak fluid, and his did the same. I was straddled over his spread thighs; some of my port lubrication dripped onto the berth. Somehow, our arms had found their ways around each other, clinging, holding the other close. We continued to writhe together, teasing in such a wonderful way.

His vocal processor offlined—I heard it go with a short, very soft burst of static—and I smirked. I could do anything to him now and not worry about him waking our fellow cadets.

So I reached down and wrapped my servo around both of our cords. I couldn't quite close my fist, but it was enough. We both arched, and my own voice died out. I didn't complain; it was only holding me back at this point. I began to jerk us off, slowly, languidly, teasing us. We whimpered silently—I sensed his noises, knew what he would have done if he could—and he laid his helm on my shoulder. I shivered and felt him smirk, just before he latched onto my sensor node again. I gave a silent cry and arched into him, pressing my chassis to his. Condensation was beading on both of our bodies as our core temperatures soared higher and higher.

The two of us fell into a frenzied battle of pleasure and dominance. We each wanted to be the one giving the most pleasure, and were constantly trying to outdo the other. The result, of course, was wonderful: complete bliss. I tightened my servo, he sucked on my sensor node. I pumped us faster, his fingers crept down my back and brushed my port. I struggled not to concede victory, tightening my grip again, and he slipped the tip of one finger into me.

With a silent cry and an arch, I gave up. He won, but it didn't matter, because losing felt _so good_. My servo gripped us tightly, twisting on the upstroke, and his finger matched my movements flawlessly. Twist and all. And oh how I loved that twist, because it allowed him to brush that bundle of wires inside of me, that spot that brought me nothing but searing ecstasy.

"Bee, Bee, Bee," I chanted, silently, mouth working as we neared our peaks. I wanted to finger him, too, but knew it wasn't worth repositioning. We were both too close; he was just fine with his cord being jerked off.

"Wasp," he groaned softly, the sound filled with static. I knew he was as close as I was; we were both quivering, shaking so much our armor rattled. Our intakes heaved, our cooling fans all but screamed with the effort of keeping us from overheating. I pumped faster and harder, desperate for my release. Desperate for _his_ release.

Just as I reached the brink, I felt him lift his helm and press his lips to mine. I tensed. My Spark skipped a pulse.

He twisted his finger again.

And I crashed over the edge. White-hot pleasure scorched through my circuitry, threatening to set me aflame from the inside. I gave a silent scream against his mouth, clinging to him as my mech fluid spurted all over our stomach armor. My port dripped lubrication over his servo, but he continued to pump his finger in and out of me. My own servo was still pumping our cords, milking my release for all it was worth and working him towards his own.

Slowly, reluctantly, my overload receded, leaving nothing but the tingling of all my sensors and the frantic pulsing of my Spark. I pulled away from the lip lock and placed my mouth at his audio sensor. With a soft crackle of static, I brought my vocal processor back online. At the same time, I released my retracting cord and wrapped my fingers around his. I gripped tightly, putting all my efforts into making him overload.

He was writhing beneath me, condensation dripping from his body. The smell of his lubricated port was strong, like burning oil. But sort of sweet, rather than acrid.

He was close, right on the edge. I smirked and waited, timing it carefully. Then, just as I felt him begin to seize up, I nuzzled his neck and moaned, "_Bee_!"

His systems completely locked up. He threw his helm back, mouth open in a silent scream much like my own. He would have fallen back onto the berth if it weren't for my arm around him, holding him close to me. He jerked a few times as his mech fluid joined my own, coating us more thoroughly, and I felt electricity pass from his body into mine. It made me shiver as my port tingled, but I pushed away the sensation. I was spent, and by the way Bumblebee slumped against me, intakes really heaving now, I guessed that he was, too.

"Oh, Wasp," he whimpered. Apparently he'd brought his voice capacitor back online without my noticing.

However, the calling of my designation brought me back to my senses. I let go of him as if he'd burned me, hastily climbing off of his lap and returning to my side of the berth. I refused to look at him.

"Wasp?" he questioned softly. I felt his servo on my arm. I ignored it and lay down. I was overcome with a feeling of vulnerability, so I hastily pulled my codpiece back on, then turned my back to him.

"Good night, Bumblebee," I muttered.

"Are you—?"

"Good _night_," I repeated firmly.

I heard him sigh, but he didn't say anything else. There was a bit of motion, and I assumed he was cleaning up the mess we'd made. I remembered that my own midsection was covered with our fluids and hastily wiped it all off. Right now, it felt like acid eating through my armor.

He lay down and drifted into recharge. I onlined my optics and stared blankly into the darkness of our bunkroom. I hadn't realized I'd been raising my servo until my finger touched my upper lip. It still tingled from the kiss.

After about cycle, I sighed and offlined my optics again. I needed to recharge, and I knew that if I delved into the turmoil in my processor, seeping into my Spark, I wouldn't get any tonight.

Just before I drifted away, I heard a small, rarely-heard voice in the back of my processor ask the question that was slowly becoming more and more pressing.

Who was I becoming?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I took off the block on anonymous reviews, so if you don't have an account but still wanna give feedback, go for it. :D

Some mech smut and more plot progression in this one. It's basically completely unedited; I finished it and then uploaded it here. I'll go back and edit it later, if it needs it. XD I just felt the need to get it to you guys as soon as possible, since I won't have internet for a week, starting Friday. Hopefully this can tide you over, my loves.

...even though I have a feeling I will be hated by/for the end of the chapter.

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I didn't want to come out of recharge. I felt so peaceful. Satisfied, happy. Life was treating me pretty well lately—okay, it was treating me well the last two solar cycles, but still—and I honestly feared that something would happen today to slag it up.

Not to mention it was _way_ too early. The siren hadn't even gone off yet. I checked my internal chronometer and saw that I had about thirty cycles before everyone else had to get up. Why was I even awake this early?

I shifted on the berth, and the slight stickiness beneath my codpiece suddenly and flawlessly restored my memory.

In a rush, I recalled the morning of the previous solar cycle. Sentinel discovering the energon on my midsection. Yelling at me, sentencing me to oil changing and washroom cleaning duties. I stifled a groan at the prospect of those looming ahead of me.

I'd had oil on my armor during inspections last night. He'd told me to wash up before the morning siren. Which explained why I was awake so disgustingly early. (Because when Sentinel tells you to something, by Pit you do it.)

With a silent groan (I hadn't onlined my vocal processor yet), I sat up and put my servo over my faceplates. For the first time since arriving, I dreaded the day to come. I wanted to just laze around and do nothing.

Okay, well maybe not _nothing_. But I certainly didn't want to do drills.

Forcing myself into motion, I swung my legs off the edge of the berth. Moving as silently as possible, I stepped around it, sparing one glance to the still-sleeping green-and-yellow mech. A soft smile graced my faceplates, and I ducked out of the bunkroom.

It was eerie how quiet and still everything was so early. Bots were taking advantage of their last few minutes of recharge, staving off the coming day a little longer. In a way, it was nice…but I've always been a social mech. I wouldn't last long in a place as quiet at this.

The one advantage I could clearly see to being up this early was that the washroom was guaranteed to be empty. I could use the good nozzles, and take more than the designated five cycles. Also, no one would sneak peeks at me when I stripped my armor off.

As expected, it was deserted. I grinned to myself and strode over to the best nozzle, reaching up to dislodge it. It was attached to a flexible metal tube so we could clean out the grime in the hard-to-reach places on our bodies. There were three different spray settings, designed to allow us to clean away even the toughest dirt. Every bot used it for more perverted reasons, but only on the rare occasions where they were alone. Group self-overload was not something we practiced at boot camp.

With a small sigh, I stamped down the tingle of arousal and turned on the nozzle. Cleaning solution, a light, almost transparent blue, immediately shot out and attacked my thigh. I hissed softly; whoever had used this nozzle last had left it on the most powerful spray setting. That meant they'd either been filthy or alone.

Pushing the thought away with no small amount of disgust, I turned it down to the gentlest setting, then set about covering myself with it. I paid particular attention to the stubborn oil stain on my chassis, rubbing it while keeping the stream of solution aimed at it. Slowly, it began to fade, but it refused to leave completely. With an annoyed "tch!" I turned up the spray setting, determined not to give Sentinel a reason to punish me further.

It finally left after a good five cycles of scrubbing. I was sure my paint job was starting to come off, too, but maybe that was just because the sensors on that particular spot of my chassis now felt frayed.

The rest of my cleaning went smoothly and quickly. I unclasped my armor to briefly clean under it, putting off taking my codpiece until everything else was spotless. Then, with a reluctant deep cycle of air, I unclasped it, too, and directed the spray to the units between my legs.

The effect was immediate. I groaned softly as my knee joints went weak and my optics shuttered. My helm tilted back, and I forced myself to actually clean the sticky interface units. My cord began to extend, seeking more attention, and I growled softly at it. There was only one way to get rid of it now.

I made sure I was clean, then wrapped my free servo around my cord. Leaning forward, I put my helm to the cool metal walls and began to pump myself. I still had about fifteen cycles to finish, dry off, and make it back in time for inspection.

Two cycles passed, and I wasn't any closer to overload than I had been when I started. I really didn't want to put my inflexible pelvic armor back on without satisfying myself, so I tightened my grip and pumped faster. My intakes worked harder, my circuits began to buzz, and my processor went fuzzy. Unthinkingly, I spread my legs and lost myself to the short fantasies playing themselves out in my imagination.

They all included Wasp.

Wasp, touching me, teasing my windshields. Wasp, sucking on the sensor node in my neck. Wasp dragging his servo lower, slipping it between my legs, pressing one finger against my port. Oh, Primus, that finger felt so good, so _real_, but I craved more. More contact, more pleasure, more _intensity_.

His name left my lips in a soft moan that reverberated around the stark room.

I nearly jumped out of my dermal plating when I heard an answering whisper in my audio sensor. The servo not tucked between my legs landed on my hip and held me in place as a glossa licked up the back of my neck. A body pressed against me, armor heated in arousal.

I relaxed as the shock passed. The body behind me was comforting, the perfect size. No awkward bending to whisper my name in my audio, no strange angles to pump his finger in and out of my port. I dropped the nozzle and reached behind me, gripping his helm and holding it close as I tilted my own back and rested it against his shoulder. His gifted lips and tongue found the node in my neck and began teasing it, sending sparks of pleasure through my circuitry.

Blind to everything but the mech behind me, uncaring of the time, I spread my legs further, whimpering out a "please." Somehow, he knew what I was asking for and added a second finger, stretching me further than I'd been stretched in vorns. I felt a slight burning and moaned, pushing down against his fingers. My right servo still pumped my cord, matching his thrusts. He moaned softly, right into my audio, and I felt him rubbing against my aft.

I needed to overload. I was close, but no matter what either of us did, it wasn't enough. Desperation overtook me. I dropped my left servo from his helm and hastily unclasped his codpiece. Together, he and I pulled it off, and I wrapped my servo around his cord. His intakes hitched and he released a louder moan. Despite the awkward angle, I pumped him in time to my own jerks and his thrusts. He began to tremble against me, groaning and bucking into my grasp. I knew what he was imagining, and wished desperately that we had time to execute it.

"Wasp!" I cried, feeling the beginning sparks of my overload skate through my circuitry. He groaned something that sounded like my name and began to tremble more violently. His fingers positively _slammed_ into my port, and I couldn't hold back my airy moans and cries. I no longer cared if we were found. I just knew that he was bringing me intense pleasure, and that we were both on the verge of overload. I wanted to hear, feel, _be_ his release.

Slowly my cries escalated until my vocal processor shut down. Just as it did, I reached my peak. My entire back strut arched, bowing my body forward in a display of my pleasure as my mech fluid spurted from the tip of my cord, coating the wall. My aft pushed backwards invitingly, Wasp's fingers continued to pound in and out of my port, and my left servo stilled around his cord. It was too hard to keep pumping him, but he didn't seem to mind; he was thrusting himself in and out of my grip, and only a few astroseconds later, he followed me over the edge. He shoved his fingers into my port as far as they would go and stopped furiously jerking himself off with my servo. My name—"Bumble_bee_!"—left his lips in a moan. I felt his hot fluid cover my backside and shivered. It was embarrassing to be defiled like that, but I didn't say anything about it.

Slowly, the waves of pleasure rebounding through our systems slowed and then stopped. We both struggled to intake air and didn't move from our positions. I wanted to crawl back into the berth and go back into recharge. My knee joints were weak; I didn't see how they would carry me back to the bunkroom in time for inspection.

Inspection! What time was it? Slag, we were going to be late!

As if reading my processor, Wasp whispered in my audio, "We've got two cycles."

With a curt nod, I pulled away from him and he from me. I grabbed the nozzle still spraying cleaning solution and hastily cleaned myself off. I was spent and the spray was cold, so my arousal stayed away. Once all evidence had been washed away, I shoved my pelvic armor back on as Wasp rinsed himself. As soon as he was once again clad in his own codpiece, we ducked hastily to the fast-acting driers, staying only long enough to get most of our bodies dry.

Then we sprinted out of the washroom, running for the bunkroom as if Megatron himself was on our tailpipes.

We only just made it. The morning siren sounded just as we flew through the door. We didn't slow down until we came to our berth, and then we both skidded to a halt. Thankfully these floors didn't pick up marks of things like that.

Ignoring the startled looks of our fellow cadets, Wasp and I bent at the waist as our intakes heaved. We had thirty precious astroseconds to regulate them before inspection.

Primus smiled upon us again. With three astroseconds to spare, he and I calmed ourselves and took up our positions side by side at the foot of our berth. We were ready when Sentinel came strolling in.

I noticed that he barely inspected Longarm, Bulkhead, or Ironhide. He paused at Wasp, taking a little longer to look him up and down, but not nearly long enough.

He was expecting me to have messed up. I could see it in his optics as he turned to face me. It was a struggle not to smirk when his gaze went to the clean spot on my chassis. He frowned a little, leaning forward to get a closer look. By procedure, he couldn't ask me to turn around, which I was thankful for; I could feel some solution still clinging to my dermal plating, just above my aft.

After taking twice the normal amount, Sentinel passed me. He gave me a sour look, snapped, "You still have your cleaning duties," and marched away.

I grinned as soon as he was gone, plopping my aft on the edge of the berth. I had a feeling that this solar cycle was going to be a good one after all.

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"C'mon, little buddy, just hear me out."

"No," I snapped, glaring at Bulkhead. I knew what he was going to say, and I didn't want to hear it. It was a wasted effort.

"But I've only got the best in processor for you," he said, snapping a little in his growing exasperation. "There's something funny about him, I don't think you should--"

I had looked away from the green giant, but his insults got the better of me and my cold gaze was drawn once more to his sincere one. We had a bit of free time, and he was using it in an attempt to talk me out of…something.

"What do you know?" I demanded, servos on my hips. "You don't know him--slag, you don't know _me_! You can't decide anything about us."

Bulkhead seemed humbled by that, because he fell silent. He looked at me, and I looked away. His optics had always been too expressive; I could clearly read his emotions, and they unsettled me.

Why was he so suspicious of Wasp?

Unwilling find an answer to that question, I turned around and walked away from him. He didn't stop me.

Alone, I wandered the camp. Today was an unusually slow day; Sentinel and the other commanders were in some kind of meeting. There was a rumor that the Decepticons were on the move again, so I assumed it had something to do with that. I wasn't really complaining; it gave me a free day and an excuse not to do the drills I'd been dreading.

I'd just been considering the possibility of running into Wasp and talking to him when I felt a servo close on my upper arm and yank me to the right. I knew without looking that it wasn't the green mech I'd been thinking of; the servo was too big. I felt myself shoved none too gently against the side of the building I'd just passed, and looked up into the red-and-gray face of Ironhide. Longarm hovered at his left shoulder, a few feet back. He had a strange look on his face that made me prefer the anger emblazoned on Ironhide's.

"What's your problem?" I asked, wrenching my arm free and glaring up at the taller mech. I tired sidestepping to get out from between him and the building, but he put his servos on the wall to stop me.

I immediately grew more agitated. I didn't like being caged in. Especially not when I had two mechs giving off very threatening presences.

"What've you done to Wasp?" Ironhide finally asked, glaring down at me.

"_What_?" I said, folding my arms over my chassis. "What are you talking about?"

Ironhide's engine revved in annoyance and he leaned in closer. I shrank back.

"He's been funny lately," he said shortly.

"Hasn't he been _funny_ since the first day? Or were you laughing at everything he said to cover up that fact that you had no idea what he was saying?"

Revving his engine again as anger flared in his optics, he raised a fisted servo in an obvious threat. I didn't flinch, because almost as soon as his servo had left the wall, Longarm stepped forward and grabbed his elbow.

"You said you wouldn't hurt him," growled the teal mech. He looked at me as he said it, and I bristled--this was not my fault--but remained silent.

Slowly, Ironhide returned his servo to its placement beside my helm. He glared at me as if he could cause my death right then and there.

"You ain't funny, and Wasp ain't right," he said, and _Primus_ that drawl was annoying. "Since yesterday, he ain't been crackin' jokes at you. He's been more quiet, too," he added, top lip lifting in a sneer.

"What's that got to do with me?" I asked. I wasn't really annoyed anymore, just eager to leave. I had a bad feeling.

"Well, you were caught with energon--lubricant--on your midsection yesterday morning," said Longarm. He stepped up and Ironhide backed off a little. I cycled a deep intake of air, feeling only slightly less crowded. "So Ironhide here thinks you had something to do with the change in Wasp's behavior."

I looked from one mech to the other, back and forth, several times. Finally, I settled my gaze on Longarm. I had to admit, it was sly, how he'd accused me of interfacing with the green mech. Without _actually_ accusing me of it.

"Why would anything I do have an effect on Wasp?" I questioned. "He...hates me." The last part stung to say, but I couldn't bring myself to believe otherwise.

Longarm smirked and stepped closer. Out of the corner of my optic, I saw Ironhide backing away with a look of disgust on his face. I knew that couldn't possibly be good.

"Far from it, Bumblebee," said Longarm. He was speaking more softly, and Ironhide was suddenly gone. I shivered. "I can tell he's rather fond of you. Just one night of interfacing and he's stopped picking on you. He doesn't even snap at you much anymore, and he had indeed become more soft-spoken."

"W-well maybe all he needed was a little release," I stammered, groping for an excuse for Wasp's behavior. In my haste I forgot to deny that he and I had done anything at all, but the bigger mech didn't seem to care. He was now uncomfortably close. "Who knows, maybe his attitude was just...crankiness...or something..."

My words died away as I watched the grey-and-teal mech bend closer to me. He didn't trap me like Ironhide had, but I was cornered all the same. I knew running would be stupid; his designation was literal, after all.

He stopped with his faceplates millimeters from mine. I could feel the thing on his chin brush against my own chin when he spoke.

"I think he's starting to like you, little one," he whispered. I looked away. He grabbed my jaw and forced my gaze to meet his. "And I'm going to claim you before he can steal you away."

Then he kissed me.

I locked up. My optics remained wide, staring at his. He was looking at me, a gleam of triumph beginning to form, and worked his lips against mine. I had to admit, he knew how to kiss. Didn't make it any less unpleasant.

I raised my servos and shoved on his chassis as hard as I could. He didn't budge. My optics shuttered, as if taking away the sight could take away the reality of the situation. His glossa swept along my bottom lip and then forced its way into my mouth. In desperation, I bit down on it, tasting energon as my dentals pierced it.

With a grunt, he pulled back, servo flying to cover his mouth. I ducked to the side and began to run, but he grabbed me before I could get out of his extensive reach. I was wrenched back to where he stood, unmoving and looking murderous. He lifted me up and slammed me into the wall and I cried out, my helm striking the hard metal behind me.

Then he was on me once more, lips working furiously against mine. He was careful not to slip his glossa into my mouth again. The servo not holding me up cupped my codpiece, and I tried to kick out at him. Somehow, he avoided everything.

Anger and panic burned through my processor. I bit down on his bottom lip, still flailing. My fist connected with a part of him, and with a grunt he flew away from me, leaving a piece of his lip behind between a couple of my dentals.

I dropped to the ground, landing unceremoniously on my aft, spitting the piece of him out of my mouth. My intakes were heaving as I struggled to process what had happened. I'd punched him and then suddenly he was gone. I knew I didn't have that kind of strength.

Unshuttering my optics, I looked around, confused and still panicked.

There, not ten feet away, stood Wasp. He had his stingers out and didn't seem to see me sitting on the ground. He wore the same expression of anger I'd seen on Longarm's face only a few cycles earlier.

"What the slag do you think you're doing?" he demanded, and I flinched. Then I realized he was speaking to the mech painfully getting to his peds.

Longarm glared back at Wasp, but did not answer. He began to back away, obviously meaning to leave through the other open end of the little alleyway. The one Wasp _wasn't_ blocking.

Wasp advanced and I hurried to stand up. I blocked his path. He still wouldn't look at me. I winced at the look on his face, but held my ground.

"Move," he spat.

"No," I said simply. "It's not worth it."

Now his anger, along with his gaze, was directed at me. I thought for several astroseconds that he was going to hit me or sting me. But he didn't. He only snapped at me again.

"What? How is it not _worth_ it?" He looked back to Longarm and tried to step around me. I blocked him again and he turned his optics back to me. "Bumblebee, do you know what he was going to _do to you_?"

I flinched and looked down, faceplates burning. I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, but I still felt ashamed.

"Yes," I said softly. "I know. But if you beat him up, he can have you kicked out, and it's not worth that, because he _didn't_ do it. Thanks to you."

Whether it was my tone or the words themselves, Wasp was brought back to his senses. His retracted his stingers and stepped back. Before then, our chassis had been almost touching. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Longarm was gone.

When I looked back to the bot in front of me, I saw a look of sympathy and a shadow of pain on his faceplates. I frowned. This had touched a circuit with him, but I didn't know why…and wasn't sure I wanted to.

Before I could say anything else, he turned around and strode away. Afraid of something like this happening again, I followed him. He let me; in fact, he seemed to be leading me somewhere. We strode wordlessly through the camp, heading to a section I hadn't had a chance to explore yet.

There were a series of warehouse-like storage units, built side-by-side, and Wasp was heading straight for the third in line. It was marked as third with a large Cybertronian symbol, and was the only one with its yawning doors standing open.

He walked through without breaking stride. I followed.

He led me about halfway in, then came to a halt next to a series of metal crates. He seemed tense, a few cords sticking out in his neck, and his servos were balled into fists. After a few astroseconds, I noticed he was just barely trembling.

"Wasp?" I ventured, fearful and worried.

His only response was to point wordlessly at a hip-high stack. I slid my aft onto them, looking at the floor. I was afraid of what I would find written on his faceplates if our gazes locked. Somehow I had the feeling I was in trouble.

The small green mech cycled a long, deep intake of air before he turned to face me. I saw it happen because now I was staring at his peds; I still couldn't bring myself to look up at him. A cycle passed in silence. Complete, unbreakable, thick silence.

Then he broke it by gently cupping my jaw and tilting my head up to look at him. Shock at his tenderness drove away my irrational fear, and I complied. Our optics met, and I lost sense of time as I struggled not to drown in the depth of his gaze.

I'd never seen such a complex series of emotions on one mech's faceplates, in one mech's stare. There were so many I struggled to pick them all out, separate them from one another. Pain, fear, sympathy, and a shadowy something that I wasn't able to identify. Or maybe I was just afraid to.

"Wasp," I whispered, something clicking in my processor. "Were you...?"

He looked at me for another long cycle, intakes only barely working. Then he sighed and looked away. He turned his whole helm, shaking it as he did. I wasn't sure whether or not it was denial at my half-asked question, but I didn't want to press the matter. Some instinct--or maybe my own fear of the truth--kept my mouth shut.

"I'm never leaving you alone again," he said softly. I shuttered my optics once, and he brought his gaze back to mine. It was harder, all previous vulnerability and openness wiped away. There was a hint of the old sneer around his upper lip. "You obviously can't take care of yourself, so I suppose I'll have to do it for you."

I just stared at him, at a loss for what to say. My processor was working to catch up to everything that had happened.

Then, with a start, I realized he was kidding. The sneer was playful.

I smiled and nodded. I knew what it meant, him telling me he was never going to let me out of his sight. And I was happy, because this was what I had been aiming for from the beginning.

Wasp and I were friends.

--------------

It was almost too weird, the way he kept to his promise. He followed me around everywhere. Well, actually, he dragged _me_ everywhere that _he_ went. Technically, I was the one doing the following, but believe me, it was against my will.

Even the rest of my cleaning duties were done with him no more than ten feet from me at all times. He watched with a critical optic, telling me if I was doing something wrong or had missed a spot. His tone, always, was soft and...almost gentle. He certainly didn't hate me anymore, but I couldn't say that he had _feelings_ for me, either. I wrote off Longarm's claim as jealousy and paranoia.

The teal-and-grey mech didn't approach me again, but he did shoot Heated Glares of Hate at Wasp and me. I was unnerved by it at first, but when Wasp would shoot a Glare of Hate back at him, I would feel a little better.

Eventually, Longarm ignored my existence altogether, and Ironhide regarded me as if I had some kind of disease. He gave Wasp funny looks every now and then, but their friendship was over. Bulkhead came to accept the green mech, but still seemed a little wary of him. He no longer tried to warn me against being his friend, though, and I was grateful for that.

However, there was one drawback to everything: Since the incident with Longarm, Wasp and I hadn't interfaced again. We hadn't so much as kissed or petted one another. Not for lack of trying on my part; he just didn't seem interested anymore. I feared that maybe he thought me to be soiled by Longarm's touch, but refrained from saying anything. I didn't want to come off as melodramatic, and whenever I felt like I needed release, I would simply wait for Wasp to drift into recharge and take care of it myself. Not as good as his touch, but good enough. I could have sworn that once or twice he woke up, but he never said anything to me or made any move to intervene. He just pretended to keep recharging, and I always finished myself as quickly and quietly as possible after that.

I knew I couldn't hold out forever, that sooner or later I'd break and crawl back to the green mech. He'd poisoned me with his skillful licks and nips, caresses and thrusts, and I was slowly succumbing to it. I still ached for more of his touch, more than just his fingers within me, and my own servo only barely kept the desire at bay. I almost always ignored my cord, preferring to substitute his fingers with my own, pretending it was so much more.

The longer time went on--I'd been freed of my duties, so it had been over a lunar cycle--the more desperate I became. One night I nearly caved in and woke him, begging for him to do something, _anything_. I just barely escaped that humiliation by adding a third finger to my previous two. The angle was awkward, so, desperate to overload and prevent myself from driving away my hard-earned friend, I rolled over onto my knee joints. My shoulder armor was pressed to the hard berth, my helm forced to turn to the side, and my right arm was between my stomach plating and the berth. My three fingers were buried inside my port, desperately thrusting in and out; I had offlined my vocal processor to keep myself quiet, and it was in silence--except for the whirring of my cooling fans--that I brought myself crashing to overload.

As I cooled down, rapidly but quietly intaking air, I onlined my optics. I nearly jumped out of my dermal plating when I saw a pair of glowing blue optics staring right back at me. I immediately sat up and moved as far away from that gaze as possible, not comprehending until I was half off the berth that it belonged to Wasp.

"Wasp?" I asked needlessly, edging forward again. Something flickered over his faceplates, too quickly come and gone in the dim lighting for me to make it out, and he nodded. I made myself comfortable again on our berth, looking down at him from my sitting position. I ignored the lubricant on my fingers.

Until Wasp decided to take hold of my servo and lick it clean, that is. Our gazes never broke from one another, and I felt my faceplates heat up. I tried only halfheartedly to pull my wrist free of his grasp, but he only hung on tighter. His glossa and lips made sure every drop was gone, and when he sat up, I had a fleeting image in my processor of him pushing me down and cleaning my port, too. He didn't do that, but he did gently touch my faceplates, just beneath my right optic, and kissed me. It was brief, just long enough for me to taste myself.

When we parted, I looked at him in confusion, frowning. He frowned back. Before I could think of a way to ask how long he'd been watching me and why, he broke the silence in a whisper.

"Why do you always do yourself?" he asked, studying me.

I spluttered for a moment, struggling to grasp his question. _Always_ do myself? Did that mean he'd been awake every time I overloaded without him? Why hadn't he _said_ anything--or, more importantly, _done_ anything--to me?

"Wh--I--you--...How many times have you, uh…seen me?" I asked, forgetting his question in the face of my own.

His frown deepened, and he responded with a curt, "Seven times. Eight if you count just now."

My helm spun. "And you never said anything to me? Were you actually watching me every time?"

"...no," he said, looking away. "I didn't say anything because...I didn't know what to say. And this is the first time I actually _watched_ you do it." He glanced at me, smirking a bit. "You're pretty slagging hot, by the way."

Now it was my turn to look away. I fell silent, unable to think beyond the fact that Wasp had been watching me touch myself and wasn't disgusted by it, or by me. I frowned again, feeling confused, and he seemed to read my thoughts.

"Why do you always overload yourself?" he asked again. I could feel his stare burning a hole in the side of my helm.

"Because... I don't know, because you didn't seem interested anymore," I said softly, not looking at him. I could sense his frown deepen, and I went on, "I tried interfacing with you again, and you pushed me away. I was afraid that..." I hesitated, unwilling to admit to my insecurities. Unwilling to have them confirmed or ridiculed.

"Bee," he said softly, reaching out as if to touch me again. His servo stopped short, unsure, and he pulled it back. But his tone was enough for me to force out the rest of my words.

"I was afraid that you didn't want me anymore," I admitted in a rush, eager to get it off of my glossa, where it sat burning like acid. "That you thought I was... I don't know, dirty or something. Because of Longarm." My voice had gotten softer and softer, and I hadn't realized I was cringing away from him until he scooted closer.

I heard him cycle a deep intake of air, and then he said the most insensitive, Wasp-ish thing possible, "Bumblebee, you're an idiot."

His tone was gentle, but his words made me jerk my helm up and glare at him. I was getting defensive, and he could sense it, because he decided to head me off before I could get started.

"I still want you," he said, and I was pleased--and a little surprised--that he used the present tense. "I just pushed you away at first because I was afraid you were turning to me out of trauma or something. I didn't want you to end up becoming incredibly attached to me because I showed you kindness after Longarm and Ironhide did…what they did."

I frowned, crossing my arms over my chassis. I only vaguely noted that my codpiece was still sitting were I'd left it when I'd taken it off much earlier in the night.

"Why do you think I'd be traumatized by that?" I questioned, cocking my helm to the side. "Longarm is an idiot. I'm not going to let him make me super vulnerable or anything."

Now he frowned, confused over something. He was quiet for a long time, and I didn't know what else to say. I'd made my argument, admitted my insecurities. Now it was his turn to do something.

"You're...totally okay?" he finally asked, still frowning at me. I nodded, and he shook his helm, perplexed.

"Why?" I said softly, searching his faceplates. I could sense something deep and dark between us that had been hidden away before now. I wondered if we would take the plunge into that abyss, and what would come of it.

"I just...knew a mech, once," said Wasp at length. He spoke haltingly, as if it was a struggle. "Something happened to him, a lot like you, but much, much worse." He looked at me, and his frown deepened even more. I sensed us teetering on the edge of that abyss, knowing that the unnamed mech was him. "He dealt with it, thought everything had been okay. Until another mech somehow wormed his way into his life and made him realize how much he'd been missing."

I looked at him, and he at me. I took that half-step, standing right on the edge of his past, ready to explore it with him, but he suddenly wrenched me back by cycling another deep intake of air and offlining his optics. His faceplates were carefully blank.

I could tell we were close to some kind of new level with our friendship, with _us_, and though I was afraid of what I would find at the bottom of the yawning trench we'd almost fallen into, I was also determined to help Wasp deal with his past. I wanted to know what was upsetting him, hurting him, and I wanted to help him get over it.

"Wasp," I said softly, reaching out to him where he lay, still and silent. My fingertips grazed his chassis. "What..." I hesitated, then steeled myself and pushed on, "What happened to you?"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Just to head off any possible complaints, here's an explanation about part of the story (you'll understand it when you get there): As far as I'm concerned, before the war, Cybertronians did not come off the assembly line with any kind of special programming regarding either faction. They had a choice, and many only chose once tensions began to rise. It was AFTER the factions split that each began to build new bots specifically designed for their side.

AND GUESS WHAT, GUYS? No mech smut. None at all. Not even mentioned (though it probably should have been). OH MAI.

This chapter's kinda short, but all it's really for is this major turning point. I couldn't have made it any longer without ridiculously dragging things out. XD;

I'm worried about how you'll all react to the new plot development.

------------------------------------------------------------

"_Wasp... What... What happened to you?"_

Such a simple question. And yet it threatened to break me in half. The weight of Bumblebee's concern and sympathy was crushing me, making it impossible for me to think. Why did he care? Could I trust him? What would happen if he knew? Would things between us change?

Fear rose up in my Spark, causing it to pulse erratically for nearly a full cycle. Bumblebee's servo on my chassis was a suffocating weight, making my intakes labor. I was sure he could feel the way my very essence reacted to his inquiry. I feared that he would ask it again, use that same concerned tone that made me question everything I'd ever thought about myself.

Why was I feeling like this? It was a harmless question. I didn't have to answer it. I knew he was curious, concerned, but I also knew that he wouldn't push if I denied him an answer. He would forget about it, probably never bring it up again.

My Spark skipped a pulse when realization crashed into me: I _wanted_ to tell Bumblebee. I wanted to trust him, to share my secret with him. And that terrified me. I hadn't trusted anyone in a long, long time, and I'd been close to the yellow mech for no more than a full lunar cycle. I was afraid of opening up to him, but I was also afraid that if I didn't do it now, I'd never get another chance.

Because, though I hardly understood myself, I knew enough to understand that I would never have the courage to bring it up.

Silence hung between us, thick and tense. Bee (when had I started think of him with that nickname?) left his servo were it was, though he traced incredibly light patterns with his fingers. He was trying to calm me, coax it out of me. For my own sake, not for his.

With my optics still offline, I filled my intakes with air and held it in for several astroseconds.

As I released it, I took that step and plunged into the abyss we had been teetering so precariously upon the edge of.

"Before the war, my life was...okay," I said softly. I forced myself not to lock up, to keep talking. I'd started, and now there was no going back. "I wasn't a high-class bot, but I lived comfortably enough.

"Then things started getting...hard, when the factions began to split. I...tried to remain neutral. But it was...it was hard to find work without an insignia."

I paused, gathering myself to keep going. I was shaking slightly with my fear, fear of his reaction, of reliving what I thought I'd been put far behind me. He took advantage of my silence to ask another question.

"Why didn't you want to pick a side?" he asked, tone genuinely perplexed.

I smiled humorlessly. "Because I was afraid of being drafted for the war everyone knew was coming," I said. "I've...never liked answering to other bots."

My smiled faded, melting into a frown. The irony of that last statement wasn't lost on me. My shaking worsened. I cycled a deep intake of air and plunged on with my story before Bumblebee could ask something else. The longer I put it off, the less chance there was that I would be able to continue.

"The first few jobs I managed to find didn't last long. They, like everyone else, began to require their workers to choose a side. My...paranoia stuck with me, so I always fled, seeking new employment." I grit my dentals, the next words sticking in my vocal processor. "Before long...the only thing I was left with..."

I tried twice to force the last few words out, opening my mouth and then closing it again. This was my greatest shame, my darkest secret. Could I let go of it? Could I acknowledge the pain and truth for the yellow mech beside me?

Eventually, I succeeded in speaking, though it was probably only because I felt the servo leave my chassis and touch my faceplates. It was a light, reassuring touch, and it gave me the push I needed.

It also ensured that I would never be able to live without this bot at my side.

"I was forced...to become a...a pleasure bot," I ground out, turning my helm away from Bumblebee. For a bot to submit themselves like that was the worst thing he or she could possibly do. They were doomed to a life cycle of submission; hardly any of them escaped that way of living, and none had yet been able to make something of themselves. Most were built and traded as contraband, but there were a select few who _chose_ that lifestyle. In doing so, they--_we_--always sealed our fates. Pleasure bots were regarded as bottom feeders, often contracting unknown illnesses and/or losing their lives to those that used them. Unwillingly, I recalled flashes of my old life, the treatment I'd had to put up with. I heard the echoes of nasty words, felt the sting of old wounds. Felt my shame and fear closing in, trying to shut my systems down.

But none of that could cover up the way Bumblebee froze, intakes stuttering for a moment.

Even though my optics were offline, I shuttered them, needing some sort of physical act to block out the burning pain I was feeling in my chassis. Grimly, his lapse sealed my assurance that my only friend was gone, the only possible career for me destroyed. He would run to Sentinel and turn me in, expose me for the liability I was.

A long, endless cycle passed in a silence thicker by far than the one of earlier, a stillness so absolute I was afraid that any kind of movement would cause reality to physically shatter and fall to pieces around me.

The other mech didn't move, didn't speak. His intakes were short, shallow, only barely there. Or maybe those were mine. I couldn't tell over the sound of static building in my audio processors.

Then, softly, with a voice that cracked, Bumblebee murmured my name. Somehow, it cut through the deafening static, silencing it. He sounded so warm, so tender, so _caring_, that I felt an unfamiliar heat behind my optics. I pushed it away, ignoring it when it prickled, ignoring the coolant that gathered around the edges of my optics, threatening to spill over despite them being shuttered. I ignored the way my whole frame began to shake--with what emotion, I wasn't sure. I felt so many things all at once--reliefpainhappinessterror--and I wasn't sure how to sort it out.

Unaware of what exactly I was saying, I continued to tell my story, relieve my past. My voice shook horribly, and once or twice my capacitor almost offlined on its own, but I pushed myself. I wanted him to know the full truth. The coolant around my optics escaped, no matter how hard I held it back, and Bumblebee wiped it all away with the softest touch.

"Bots of...of all kinds...used me. I was a...a h-husk. M-my pleasure, was never...c-considered. They all treated me as if..."

I trailed off, shaking my helm. My armor was rattling with the force of my quakes--quakes caused by emotions I'd only dimly felt for the longest time, quakes caused by the effort to restrain myself and not have a complete, undignified breakdown. Leering faceplates and cruel gazes loomed up out of the darkness of my offlined optics. But I just kept talking. Kept spilling my Spark to Bumblebee.

"You asked me, the first time we in-interfaced…why you were the first bot t-to ever use your glossa on me." I paused. He said nothing. Perhaps he knew what I was going to say, but I had to say it anyway. The shaking in my voice died, a strange strength taking its place. "Every time I was..._hired_," I spat the word out through shaking lips, a sick, dry humor in my voice, "the mechs would interface all the way with me. Cord to port. The few femmes I had...usually forced _me_ to adopt that role." I shook my helm again, balling my servos into fists to try to quell my ever-worsening shaking. "None of them ever_...ever_ spared a thought for what I wanted. They didn't care if it hurt, didn't care whether or not my body was _supposed_ to do the things they wanted it to do."

"Wasp," whispered the yellow mech, fingers cupping my jaw. I didn't online my optics. I wasn't done, and I feared what I would see if I looked at him. I didn't want pity. I didn't want even a trace of disgust. I didn't think I could handle seeing tenderness, not when I was this vulnerable. I felt as if I might offline just knowing there was a possibility he was looking at me with soft blue optics.

"I was often forced to use my mouth. I became an...an _expert_. I was bent into all kinds of positions. Jumped. Tied up. Beaten. Every solar cycle, I risked my life. Just to survive." I gave a harsh laugh that threatened to wake our fellow cadets. They seemed so far away, in another universe entirely, and yet I could reach out and almost touch Ironhide. I forced away thoughts of them, unshuttered my offline optics, and cycled a deep take of air. I was nearly finished.

"Then, one day, an Autobot happened across me. He caught me on the brink of insanity." Another humorless smile touched my lips. "I was incoherent at first, kept asking him…how he wanted me to touch him. Eventually, I got it in my processor that he wasn't there for my _services_. He spoke to me softly, gently, and persuaded me to join his faction, leave such a filthy life behind me. Go to boot camp with him, become a commander and live the life I _deserved_. He was nice, and eventually respected me, but he was always distant. Treated me as if...as if I had some sort of permanent malfunction." I hesitated, then added in the barest whisper, "Just the way pleasure bots have always been treated. Have come to _expect_ to be treated."

Finally, obeying some instinct, I onlined my optics and looked at Bumblebee. He was staring back at me, his own optics wide, shock and sympathy etched into his faceplates. I was pleased to note that I could bear that sympathy, that compassion...even hungered for more of the latter. I searched and searched, but found no trace of disgust. Relief washed through me, so powerful I had to once more shutter my optics and take a moment to grip reality again. His servo was still on my jaw, my anchor to consciousness.

As I unshuttered my optics, I sat up, slowly, conscious of every movement. My servo came up to cover his.

"You..." I smiled a little, with actual emotion this time. I could feel a long-forgotten kindness entire my gaze, feel the slight heat that rose in Bee's faceplates because of it. "You, bumbling idiot that you are, are a much better friend than he was. He almost let Longarm..."

I shook my helm yet again, curling my fingers around his. It was my way of preventing myself from saying to Pit with the military and seeking revenge for what almost happened to Bumblebee. Because no bot should ever, under any circumstances, have to live with that weighing on their Spark; I envied him, in a way, for having escaped it. Recognition dawned in his optics, followed by a look of shock so immense that he actually swayed a little where he sat.

"Bee," I whispered, and he came back to the present. Back to me. His gaze focused, and I was suddenly struck with a notion that had me trembling with chuckles. A snicker or two escaped my vocal processor.

"...what?" he asked at length, regarding me cautiously. It was painfully clear to me that he feared I was unstable. And I couldn't say I blamed him.

"I just realized..." I forced my tremors to stop before continuing, "I just realized how...ridiculously melodramatic this night has become."

He cocked an optic ridge, his question unasked but written all over his face, suffused in his gaze.

"Think about it," I said. But I pushed on without really giving him any time to do so. "First you overload yourself, and we come to realize that we've had a huge misunderstanding. _That_ leads to me telling you all about my horrible, traumatic past--" I saw him wince "--and then you realize that the very same Autobot who rescued me from that past almost condemned you to enduring a pain all too similar."

My tone had darkened dangerously, and perhaps Bumblebee sensed how badly I (once again) wanted to beat the slag out of Ironhide, for he brought his free servo up and cupped the other side of my jaw. We looked at each other for a few astroseconds, and then I averted my gaze. I still felt sullied, broken, and a ridiculous part of me feared that even Bumblebee's simple touch to my faceplates would cause some of my filth to rub off on him. Tarnish and darken the bright Spark that pulsed in his chassis.

He turned my helm back to face him, however, forcing our optics to meet once more. I was ensnared by his gaze, unable to obey the urge to look away again.

I don't know how long we sat like that, but eventually he cycled a deep intake of air and brought his helm forward so that our brows were resting against one another. He shuttered his optics, and I looked to the side, making no move to lean into or away from him. His servos remained cupping my jaw.

We sat in still silence, letting the night slip past us unnoticed. I feared breaking this moment, feared going into recharge. What would happen in the morning? Would Bumblebee treat me differently? Would he tell anyone? Would he go picking a fight with Ironhide? Or would things remain exactly as they had been the last thirty-two solar cycles, with us hanging out, joking, doing daily drills and living mostly carefree lives?

I had no answers, and knew that only time would bring them. I could not force them out of life, could not wring them from reality. I had to wait for them to come to me.

I was utterly helpless now, completely at the mercy of Bumblebee. And that terrified me as much as reliving my past had.

Finally, after almost a full megacycle of just silence and gentle touches, the bot pulled away from me. He offered a small, tired smile, leaving one servo on my jaw.

"C'mon," he said softly, motioning to the berth beneath us. "Let's get some recharge."

Reluctantly, I nodded. I knew he needed it, but would force himself to stay awake if I told him I wouldn't be able to get any. Concern for him won out, and I lay down on my back, just as I'd been all throughout my confession. He replaced his codpiece with fingers that shook minutely, then lay beside me. His servo sought out my arm, grasping it lightly. As if he were afraid something would happen to me if he let go for more than a few astroseconds.

I smiled, offlining my optics. I waited for Bumblebee's intakes to become deep and even as he slipped into stasis, and then I shuffled my arm a bit, repositioning his hand.

Weariness suddenly overcame me, and I was unconscious within a cycle. I fell into recharge with my fingers entwined with Bee's, seeking the physical reassurance that he was, for now, by my side.

-------**********-------

The next morning brought with it an overwhelming sense of disbelief. I scarcely comprehended that I'd spilled my Spark to the mech still recharging beside me. I didn't _want_ to believe it. By all Cybertronian standards, I was a liability. My past made me…disposable, obsolete. How long would it be before he turned me in?

Because I refused to believe that he would honor me and help me carry my burden. That would only bring a false sense of security.

However, despite my suspicions, seventeen solar cycles passed and he didn't say a word of it to anyone. He sometimes shot me glances, the look on his faceplates concerned and searching. What he was looking for, I wasn't sure, but sometimes he found it, smiling a little and relaxing as he looked away. Other times it eluded him; his frown would deepen as he averted his gaze, and he would remain tense for the next few megacycles.

Whenever I would do everything I could to ease that tension, he would give me a sympathetic look that immediately set me on edge. It was too close to pity for my liking, and I didn't appreciate the way it appeared every time I made an effort to appear perfectly fine.

It was almost as if some invisible barrier was being slowly erected between us. Every attempt I made at tearing it down only seemed to fortify it.

And it really didn't help that Sentinel had finally gotten around to getting me a berth of my own. Now Bumblebee and I were separated by Ironhide and Bulkhead's recharge stations, as the Sergeant had insisted there be some space between us. (He'd noticed the changes in allegiance, and he didn't like them. So he did all he could to 'right' them.)

Almost a full lunar cycle after That Night, things shifted in a very short span of time, and I became convinced that he was going to turn me in. It hurt to recognize that I had, in fact, begun to trust him and believe that he wouldn't betray me. But the way he became quieter as the solar cycle progressed screamed that there was something to be suspicious of. His responses to my questions, comments, even a few of my snarky jabs, became less heated, less…Bumblebee-ish. It was like he was distancing himself from me.

I couldn't help thinking that it was probably so it wouldn't hurt him as much to _do what he needed to do_.

So when our last free megacycle before curfew rolled around and he said he had somewhere to be, I let him go. With sad and hurt--yet oddly defiant--optics, I watched him walk away from me, shoulders hunched as if the weight he carried were a physical burden. I almost reached out to him, asked him not to go. But I managed to refrain, knowing it would hurt all the more when he denied me.

I was expecting to be embarrassed, degraded in front of the camp. Sent packing that night and denied the last possibility to live a good life. What I _wasn't_ expecting was for him to come back with a wary Ironhide and a length of cable, probably stolen from one of the many storage buildings. Bumblebee's back strut was straight, walk brisk, but the red mech following him was sporting a new, very slight limp. I had been sitting on my berth, staring absently at the wall, etching every little detail into my memory chips, but I looked around at the sound of their metal peds on the equally metal floor.

An optic ridge crept upwards of its own accord, and I followed their movements with a detached curiosity. The ridge crept higher when they stopped in front of me. Nothing was said for several astroseconds.

Just before I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, Bumblebee shot Ironhide a meaningful look. The red mech made an act of clearing all static from his vocal processor before he spoke. He looked at the wall over my shoulder, expression hard and blank. His optics flickered with an emotion I couldn't quite identify.

"I, uh... I'm sorry an' all, about...about leavin' Bumblebee ta Longarm," he said gruffly.

I quickly shuttered my optics in surprise and retaliated with a quick-glossa'd, "Shouldn't you be saying that to _him_?"

Now he looked at me, and I caught a glimpse of that same maddening sympathy Bee kept showing. His arms, which had been hanging tense at his sides, now came up and crossed over his chassis. The sympathy disappeared, replaced by a sarcastic look. Something I hadn't seen in a long time and welcomed gratefully. Anything was better than that stupid _sympathy_.

"Already did," he shot back. "Mind, he had to, uh...nudge me in the right direction first." He chuckled good-naturedly and shifted his weight off of his injured leg. I shot a glance to Bee, but he was staring at the wall, faceplates a careful mask of blankness. "Kid's gotta kick, I'll say that much," he drawled on, drawing my gaze back to him. Now my arms mirrored his, and he smirked his crooked smirk, shaking his helm. "Naw, I'm apologizin' ta you, Wasp." He cleared his vocal processor again and pushed himself, "I know what it would've done ta you, if'n I'd let Longarm carry out his...plans. And for almost lettin' that happen, I'm sorry."

I looked at him, faceplates carefully blank, like Bumblebee's. I waited until he began shifting uncomfortably under my stare before I smiled and said, "Thanks."

Ironhide looked like he wanted to say more, and I expected it. He'd never known when to keep his mouth shut, and I was sure he wanted to gripe about the lengths Bee had gone to to make him come apologize. But he only gave a curt nod (more of a tip of his helm, really) and turned around. Hiding his little limp much better now that the theatrics were over, he walked away, out of the bunkroom.

Leaving me alone with Bumblebee.

"Why haven't you sold me out?" I asked bluntly. I was tired of dancing around it; seeing Ironhide again, talking to him, had brought back the hardened side of me I hadn't been aware of losing.

Bee shuttered his optics quickly, looking at me in surprise. The first real emotion I'd seen on his faceplates all solar cycle.

"Be...cause we're friends," he said, sounding almost unsure. He gave me another of his odd looks, and I lifted my chin. "You weren't _expecting_ me to turn you in...were you?"

I held his gaze for a solid three astroseconds before buckling and averting mine. I sensed him tense, knew he was offended. I headed him off before he could rip me a new exhaust port. Or worse, make me _feel bad_.

"I'm not used to loyalty," I said, once again cutting straight to the point. "I figured if it wasn't going to be you, it would be Ironhide. This whole last lunar cycle has been...stressful. I wasn't expecting to still be here."

Bumblebee was quiet for almost a whole cycle. I thought he was going to slip back into the silence he'd adopted lately, but he broke it by cycling a deep intake of air and shaking his helm. I faced him fully as he began to speak.

"Wasp, I'm not going to tell anyone. And Ironhide isn't, either," he added. Judging from the dark look that flickered through his optics, he'd used some method of 'persuasion' to ensure the red mech's silence. Maybe that explained the cable still gripped tightly in his right servo.

Seeking to avoid another deep, Spark-to-Spark conversation (I doubted I could handle another one so soon after my first; one lunar cycle was simply too short), I jumped on the distraction that blessed cable provided.

"What's the cable for?" I asked, looking from it to Bumblebee. It was of considerable length, wrapping around itself three times. Meaning he was holding three different parts of it at the same time.

He glanced down at it, as if he'd forgotten it was there. Then he shifted nervously, avoiding my gaze. I glared at him, arms tightening over my chassis, expressing my obvious dislike of his silence.

"I, uh..." He bit his bottom lip, glanced at me for a nanoklik, then looked away again. Finally, after almost two full cycles of shifty silence, he blurted, "It's for me. Hopefully. Because I...I want to know what it was like for you. Back then."

I was only barely comprehending him, and the next part came out so quickly I had to take a full ten astroseconds to process it.

"Iwantyoutotreatmelikeyouweretreated."

Silence rang loudly throughout the room. Just as I caught up, he took another deep intake of air and plunged on, "Just for one night. I promise, that's all."

"No," I said firmly, almost talking over him. "Not an option. Ever."

"Please," he said softly. The weight of the word positively dripped from his glossa like high-grade energon.

"_No_," I repeated, glaring at him like I could physically burn a hole in him. "I couldn't--you don't know--you wouldn't ever--_NO_." I struggled to convey to him the severity and sheer impossibility of his request. My words tumbled over one another, all fighting to escape at the same time.

"Wasp," he said softly, moving a little closer. I eyed the cursed cable as if it were likely to attack me, and he dropped it to the floor. "_Please_, Wasp. I... I've been thinking about it all solar cycle." That explained his unusual silence. "I know what I'm asking for--"

"No, you don't," I said sharply, giving him a look that dared him to claim otherwise. "You couldn't _possibly_ know."

He hesitated, looking away. When our gazes met again, his burned with an intensity--a _sincerity_--that I'd never before seen on his faceplates. I averted my optics, unable stand such brilliance.

"I know enough," he said softly, "and I want to understand you. I want to be able to relate to you." When I didn't say anything, but refused to look at him, he pressed, "Besides, it wouldn't be _that_ bad. It wouldn't be...real. I know you won't offline me, won't hurt me." _Too much_ were the words that hung between us, heavy and unspoken.

"I could never do that to you," I said softly. The heat in my voice was gone, replaced by a crushing weariness. "To _anyone_."

"Just once," he pleaded. "Just the smallest stuff done to you. Then I promise to never ask again. Ever."

I shook my helm, but I couldn't find it in me to give words to my denial. His pleas were wiggling into my processor, slowly wearing me down. I sought to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

I needed to prove my point.

So before Bumblebee could so much as shutter an optic, I stooped and grabbed the discarded cable, then stood and gripped his left wrist joint. I twisted it painfully, forcing him to spin so his back was to me. Then I wrapped some of the cable around his wrist, not bothering to be gentle.

He'd tensed, and reflexively tried to strain away from me. Now he was still, but his intakes were heaving, and the servo behind his back was balled into a tight fist.

I stopped, taking in his reaction. He really was a fool.

"I told you that you had no idea what you were asking for," I said softly, so close to his audio processor that he jumped the slightest bit. "I was right. You can't handle this." I accentuated the last word with a tug of the cable, and he took in air with a soft hissing sound.

Then I let him go and took one step back before planting my aft on the berth. My arms folded over my chassis again as I watched him gingerly bring his arm back around to his front. He unwrapped the cable, frowning down at it. Then he dropped it and just stood there, still looking down.

Finally, after thirty-seven astroseconds, he turned to face me. His optics were searching, and he unthinkingly mirrored the position of my arms.

"I asked for the smallest stuff," he finally said. He was a _naive_ fool, apparently. His tone wasn't accusing, but somehow the words still stung. I sneered at him, something I hadn't done in quite a while.

"That _is_ one of the smallest things," I shot back. He winced, and I immediately felt mixed emotions. Triumph at proving him wrong, anger at him for asking for it, sorrow for having done anything at all. And, once again, the pain of old wounds, an ache that seemed to be far too close to the surface lately.

"I..." It was obvious he wanted to say something, but there was nothing to say. I'd been treated and handled like scrap metal. We both knew that, and I lived with it. I was doing everything I could to put it behind me.

"Bumblebee," I said, and he looked at me again. "Just drop it, okay? Don't make me regret trusting you."

That one hurt, I could tell by the way he tensed. He looked at me, upset, and I forcefully shoved down the regret that tried to crawl out of the recesses of my processor. Then he nodded stiffly and turned away from me. He walked to his berth, and sat down on it, staring at the wall. I had the suspicion he was reformatting his plan. The thought caused me to cycle a long, deep intake and shake my helm.

I stuffed the cable under my berth, making sure no one would see it. I knew it couldn't stay there forever, but for now it was fine. I didn't know where Bee had gotten it, and curfew was too close for me to try to figure it out.

The rest of the night passed quickly, seamlessly, and when lights out was called, I curled up on my berth. I lay facing the direction of Bumblebee's own recharge station, wishing deep down that I was laying next to him, but refusing to get up and go to him. Pride really is a pesky thing sometimes.

I slowly slipped into a light recharge, apprehensively wondering what else could possibly be thrown at me in the coming solar cycles.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm so, so sorry for the wait, guys, and for how short this is. I'm even more sorry for the way this chapter ends. The next one is in the works, and I promise to have it up as soon as possible.

I blame the plot bunnies. They overworked themselves and have apparently decided to take an extended vacation. They didn't leave any phone numbers, addresses, nothing that I could use to contact them. So I've been having to try to work it out myself, and it's harder than I would have expected. (In all honesty, I don't blame those plot bunnies for leaving.)

Please don't kill me.

Instead, you should review! Seriously, I live for your reactions. I need more of them to be inspired to write. I'm doing it all for you guys, and if I don't think many people are reading/care, this'll end up dead in the water. :/

Also, Bumblebee is such a teenage girl. -cough-

Also-also: There's one part where Wasp is VERY OoC. That's just to show how much he's opened up to Bee. I promise I won't butcher his character anymore. -coughcough-

Disclaimer: I forgot to say this in all my earlier chapters, but I don't own Transformers in any way. I make no profit from this story.

* * *

No matter what I did, Wasp was almost constantly on-edge. I couldn't _really_ say I blamed him. He had basically put his life in my servos, after all. I could destroy him on a whim.

But the thought of doing that made me feel like the fuel in my tanks had gone bad.

I regretted my request of being treated like he had been. Thinking back (from a safe distance of six solar cycles later), it had been really insensitive of me. I should have at least sat him down and tried to better explain it to him, instead of just brazenly charging into it.

Now I was going to have a much harder time convincing him.

I refused to give up. I was going to experience at least some of what he went through if it offlined me.

Okay, maybe that was going a little too far. But I was determined, frag it.

My main obstacle, in my opinion, was that he and I had yet to interface all the way. I no longer had to satisfy myself; he learned to read my body language, even the slightest hint of arousal in my gaze. It unnerved me to know that he was way too familiar with it in the first place, but I wasn't about to tell him that. It would only reinforce his decision to forget everything in his life before he came boot camp.

However, two lunar cycles of his expert touches and nothing more was splitting my processor. I felt like something inside of me was going to break if I didn't get to feel him the way I so dearly wanted him.

So I determinedly set about getting what I wanted. I was, of course, going to be very mature about it and _not_ act like a Sparkling.

"Please?"

"No."

"_Please_?"

"_No_."

I huffed. "Why not?"

He didn't deign a response, but I knew what he was thinking. And it was, I felt, ridiculous for him to think that way. I tried to convey this to him delicately.

"You're being ridiculous." He glared at me from where he sat, on a crate beside my own. We were hiding in a storage shed, seeking the privacy that Bulkhead had been trying to deny us. "You are!" I insisted. "It's not like you're gonna be my first." I dropped my voice and added, "Before you told me, would you have refused me if I'd asked?"

He only barely hesitated before responding with a curt, "Yes." But still, he hesitated.

I crossed my arms over my chassis. It was time to whine and kick my peds like a Sparkling.

"_Please_, Wasp!" He looked at me, alarmed at my tone, and inspiration struck. I leaned close, giving him a wanton look. "I want you. I _crave_ you." He looked away, a sign that I was winning. "Please... Give me what I'm asking for. I know you want me, too."

If I'd been a little more outspoken, I would have proceeded to talk dirty to him. As it was, I just settled my servo on the armor of his forearm. He twitched as if to pull away, but didn't. He was carefully cycling deep intakes of air.

I knew he was close, _so close_, to that breaking point. So I gave one more little push.

"_Wasp_," I whimpered.

I could almost _see_ the buckling of the steel wall he'd erected. It crumpled quickly as he shuttered his optics, shivering a little. His servos were balled into fists on his knee joints, a physical manifestation of his last bit of resistance.

I dragged my fingers down his armor and into the crevice of his wrist joint. They brushed his sensor node, and he lost it.

With a growl, he turned and pushed me so I fell backwards a little. Eager, I scooted my aft back so that I was sitting against the wall, and he quickly straddled my thigh plating. His lips and glossa attached themselves to my neck cables, and I let out a small moan, arching into him. His arms wrapped around me, possessively, and I smiled faintly. I was familiar with his embrace by now; he'd given it every time we had 'faced over the last two lunar cycles.

I knew he couldn't be without me. Normally that would have been a burden, but...I was quickly growing to rely on him just as heavily.

As far as I was concerned, we could burden each other.

One of Wasp's dentals nipped a sensitive wire and I cried out, torn from my reverie. I scrambled for purchase on his smooth green armor, fingers slipping into seams and crevices, teasing wires and cords and nodes. We dissolved rapidly into a tangle of arms, legs, servos, fingers, lips, and glossa until we couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. We were both so desperate to touch the other. Cooling fans whirred to life as we began to overheat. Our lips met heatedly, glossas battling fiercely, neither of us giving any ground.

Everything we had done the last two lunar cycles had been careful. Not planned out, but still somehow routine. It had taken me a few times to realize what was wrong: it had been missing the passion we'd both felt every time before That Night. He was still wary of me and my reactions to things; I was still afraid of offending him by pushing for more. We had danced around each other again and again, never quite on the same step.

Now I was ending the dance completely.

"Wasp," I groaned, pulling away from the kiss.

He froze. Inwardly, I groaned; he appeared to have gotten some of his data chips back in line, which was a problem for me.

"Please, don't sto--"

"Shut up," he whispered, cutting me off. He was still incredibly tense, but now, as I came down from my pleasured high and stopped being offended by his rudeness, I could tell it wasn't directed at me. I stilled as well, and over the sound of our fans (which seemed to be screaming in the otherwise silent storage shed), I could hear the sound of pedfalls.

They were coming toward us.

We both realized it at the same time, and ripped away from one another. The steps were heavy, but not as heavy as Bulkhead's. That left Ironhide, Longarm, or Sentinel, and neither of us wanted to be caught by _any _of them like this.

We scrambled to cycle large intakes of air, trying desperately to cool our systems enough to stop our internal fans. The air around us, however, was heated, and wasn't doing much good, but before we could think about moving somewhere else, the mech rounded a corner. We both tensed so much some of our joints creaked in protest.

When I saw who it was, I didn't know whether I felt relieved, scared, or angry. He couldn't punish us, like Sentinel, but I almost would have preferred Sentinel to him.

"What are you doing here?"

The words rang out in stereo, disorienting me for a few nanokliks. As my processor righted itself, I realized both mechs in front of me had spoken the same words at the same time. The only difference was the inflection; Wasp had spat out the words angrily.

Longarm smirked, though his optics still held an uneasy look that was fitting to the surprised tone he'd used. He advanced, and I ignored the small urge to shrink backwards. As he came to a halt before us, Wasp snarled, a rough, almost frightening sound. The teal bot's only response was to cross his infamous arms over his chassis.

"We _are_ on break," he said simply. I assumed he was walking around, absently trying to pass the time by.

I wondered vaguely what he was doing walking around a supposedly deserted storage shed, but pushed the thought away. There was nothing suspicious about it. And he'd certainly been surprised to see Wasp and myself, so it wasn't like he'd been stalking us.

Wasp, however, didn't seem convinced of his innocence, by any means. "So what are you doing in a empty place like this?" he demanded.

"Hardly empty with you two here," Longarm responded simply. I noticed he'd sidestepped the question.

"You know what I meant."

Longarm merely shrugged. Again, he dodged having to answer the question by diverting attention to us.

"Might I ask what _you two_ are doing here?" he asked, tone all too smug for my liking. However, before I could say anything, he pressed on, "Rhetorical question." That was supposedly directed at Wasp, who had opened his mouth. The green mech closed it again, seething. "I know full well what you're doing back here...if your heated systems and guilty looks are anything to go by." He chuckled humorlessly. "_So_ sorry to have interrupted. I'm sure you swooning lovers were close to a breakthrough in your relationship. My _sincerest_ apologies for halting its progress."

Longarm smirked again, his gaze confident. He was gathering strength through his biting sarcasm, I could sense it...and I didn't like it.

"C'mon," I muttered, grabbing Wasp's arm. I looked away from Longarm for the first time since he'd appeared, directing my line of sight to the angry bot standing protectively in front of me and a little to the left. "Let's just go."

Suddenly, a servo was at my right side, around my back, at my left side. Despite myself, I gave a small cry as I was wrenched forward, past Wasp and up against Longarm's chassis. I was shocked by the suddenness of it, and that allowed the teal-and-grey mech enough time to lean down and whisper in my audio processor.

"I am still determined to make you mine, little Bee," he said. I knew Wasp couldn't hear him. I shivered.

"Slag off," I spat at him, shoving against his chassis. He didn't let me go, however, and I shoved harder. Still nothing.

Suddenly, a green fist came sailing by my helm and planted itself in Longarm's face with enough force to make him drop me and stumble backwards a few steps. Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed Wasp, holding him back from pummeling the other mech.

We struggled together for a few astroseconds, and then he extended his stingers. I decided then that it was time to leave.

"Let's go," I said firmly, glaring at Longarm as I hauled my friend backwards. Without taking my gaze off of him, I dragged Wasp and myself out of there before Wasp could do something _really_ stupid.

That night, despite my pleas, I still didn't get the interface I wanted.

-------------------------------------------------------

More solar cycles passed, and it seemed the unbreakable, unbendable steel wall of Wasp's resolve had gone back up. He was just as determined as I was, which was more annoying than I could ever explain. No matter how I begged, pleaded, asked nicely, or offered myself to him, he seemed determined not to take that next step.

I was quickly reaching a point of breaking and jumping him. I wouldn't give him a _choice_ in the matter.

The only thing holding me back from that was, of course, the trauma it could cause him. I didn't want to make him relive his old life anymore than he already had to...except for putting me through it for one night. I figured that by asking for that, I certainly couldn't take any more liberties with him.

However, his repeated refusals to interface fully, _properly_, were really taking their toll. I was starting to wonder if there was another reason he wouldn't do it. Seeing Longarm again had unsettled the both of us, especially because the teal mech had pulled me close. I refused to tell Wasp what he'd whispered; I pretended like I hadn't really heard him. He wasn't convinced, but he didn't push too much; he was usually too busy fuming over being dragged away before getting a chance to really beat him up.

But it made me question if he really did see me as tainted. Longarm was rapidly proving himself to be a sleazy Autobot, and the fact that he'd set his sights on me made me feel like I had an actual virus uploaded into my mainframe. Did Wasp feel the same?

Stressing over it wasn't getting me anywhere, but I couldn't help it. I was afraid to ask, afraid of what the answer would be. I only wanted to know if he could truthfully tell me no, like he did That Night. If he hesitated or even admitted that he did...

"Bee?" I ignored the voice. I wasn't done submerging myself in angst.

"_Bumblebee_." The tone was impatient now (he'd never had much patience in the first place), and I didn't feel like dealing with the attitude that would come with continued silence on my end, so I turned to Wasp, who was sitting with me on my berth.

"What?" I asked simply.

"Are you...okay?" he asked, surveying me closely.

I sighed and rolled my optics. He'd asked this more than once since the almost-fight, and my answer was always the same.

"Yes, I'm fine."

Always a lie, but the same nonetheless.

"Are you sure?"

"Mmhm."

Silence. A sticky, uncomfortable silence. I was just starting to slip back into my own thoughts when I was interrupted again. Wasp was feeling unusually talkative, apparently.

"I've been thinking..."

"Congratulations," I retorted before I could stop myself. Knowing I'd messed up, I shot a sheepish glance at the green mech. He was glaring at me.

"Fine. I _won't_ tell you," he said, crossing his arms and turning his helm away from me.

"No, come on," I prodded, turning to face him. "I wanna know." He was quiet, still not looking at me. With a start, I realized Wasp was _pouting_, but managed to reign in my laughter. Sort of. Through a shaking vocal processor, I added, "Please tell me? I _really_ wanna know."

He glanced at me, and I straightened my faceplates within a nanoklik. He gave me a suspicious look, but seemed to deem my expression of polite apology and curiosity as passable, because he turned back to me, unfolding his arms.

He opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it again. I looked on, puzzled, as this occurred two more times. What the Pit was he trying to say?

Suddenly, my processor recalled on some of the data in my memory chips. _"I can tell he's rather fond of you...Just one night of interfacing, and he's stopped picking on you..."_

I shook my helm, pushing the thought away. Longarm was just jealous, and because of that he was obviously delusional.

Because if Wasp liked me so much, why wouldn't he interface with me?

"I..." He started to speak, then stopped again. He wasn't looking at me, but I sensed that was to help him, not because of something I'd done. I began to feel a heat coming from the area of his faceplates and felt my Spark skip a pulse. Was Longarm right after all?

"I just wanted to tell you..." He hesitated (my Spark skipped another pulse or three), and with what appeared to be a huge effort pushed himself forward, "...that I've changed my processor."

I shuttered my optics, not understanding. He glanced at me, saw my uncomprehending look, and glanced away again. He muttered something that even my sensitive audio receptors couldn't pick up.

"What?" I asked, still giving him a look of utter bewilderment.

"I've decided to fully interface with you," he blurted, speaking in a rush.

I was silent. Then I asked, "Why?"

He seemed shocked, and sputtered to respond. It was unusual, seeing _Wasp_ lose his cool. But at the same time, it was an honor; he would only ever do it for me.

"Wh-what do you mean by _why_?" he asked, glaring now. His arms were once again folded over his chassis, and I realized he thought I was rejecting him. Which was stupid, but _so_ like Wasp.

"I mean, _why_ did you decide to? What made you change your processor?" I cocked my helm to the side, showing him I was only curious.

Now it was his turn to shutter his (newly widened) optics. His arms became slack, then fell away from his chassis altogether. He averted his gaze, and I felt an increased heat coming from him.

"Because...I just did," he offered evasively, still staring intently at the floor. I saw his fingers twitched and knew that he was holding back from crossing his arms again. "Why does it matter?" he asked suddenly, countering my question.

I started slightly and, without hesitation, said, "'Cause it's important." He looked up at me, and we stared at each other for several astroseconds. He seemed to be waiting, so I offered more, "It's basically a, uh... A big step...for us. And I want to know why you're suddenly okay with taking it."

It struck me that it was pretty stupid how Wasp was so reluctant to fully interface with me, but he hadn't hesitated much in telling me his darkest secret. I shook my helm a little, internally cycling a deep, silent intake of air.

Backed into a corner, he was given no choice but to answer me. This time he spoke freely, as if having no option cleared his processor and took away all hesitation.

"I want to take that step before something happens to you," he stated. I felt blindsided; before I'd even fully grasped the first part, he added, "I know Longarm wants you. And I'm hoping that if you and I...progress, he'll back off."

It took a full cycle to process completely and click into place. He was taking the step because he was trying to _protect_ me.

Not because he _wanted_ me.

I went on the offensive, glaring at him through optics I knew had brightened with my anger. "If that's the only reason, then forget it," I spat. "I don't want to 'face you for my _protection_."

He looked as if I'd slapped him. I might as well have, I knew, but I didn't care. He'd insulted me first, on a deeper level than he could have imagined.

"Wh--Bee--" he stumbled over words, processor almost visibly calculating everything, trying to assess my sudden change in mood.

"Don't you _Bee_ me," I snapped, standing up and moving away from him. "You don't even _get_ how...how..." I couldn't find the words, because _offended_ didn't even seem to _begin_ to cover it. I was _upset_, I was _angry_, I was...

I was _hurt_.

Was that the only way to get him? The only reason he'd give me what I wanted? For my _safety_?

I knew I was acting like a Sparkling. Like a _femme_ Sparkling. But I really didn't care at that point; I was too slagging upset. I couldn't think straight.

Now Wasp was getting angry. I knew why. He'd only been trying to help, and I'd thrown it back in his face.

"What is your _malfunction_, Bumblebee?" he demanded, blue optics narrowed in anger.

I needed to calm down. I _wanted_ to calm down. I really was acting completely ridiculous, because I knew he hadn't _meant_ any harm by it.

But that didn't change that fact that part of my Spark was wounded.

"_My_ malfunction is that _you_ only want to interface with me for my _protection_." My voice was rising, in pitch more than volume. Static began creeping into it, but my words remained clear. "Not because you _want_ me, oh, no. You only want to _save_ me. Be the _hero_. Keep me from going through what _you_ did."

He opened his mouth, looking absolutely livid; I'd struck a low blow, but I cut him off before he could even get started.

"Well in case you didn't _notice_, Wasp, I kinda _want_ to experience that!" Again, he looked like he'd been slapped. I ignored the twinge of regret and the pulse of trepidation that lanced through me. "I wouldn't have _asked_ you for it if I didn't. I still want to know what it was like for you!"

When Wasp spoke, it was with a low voice. A shiver ran down my back strut; I knew he had to be _really_ fragged off. It was...scary. I wondered, very vaguely and briefly, if we would recover from this argument.

"If you _want it so bad_, then why don't you just go shake your _aft_ in front of _Longarm's face_." He growled.

I felt like I'd been struck in the Spark. My vents seemed to twist and bend, disabling my ability to cycle air. He was suggesting I go get myself... Primus.

The verbal blow subdued me a little. I stopped yelling, but still couldn't quite keep the malice out of my voice as I ground out, "I don't _want_ Longarm. I don't _trust_ Longarm. I want _you_ to do it, because only _you_ can show me what _you_ slagging went through!"

As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back. I could almost see something physically snap behind Wasp's optic glass.

All my anger vanished, replaced instantaneously by fear as the green mech advanced. He bore down on me with the force of a planet, anger, hate, and something _unstable_ etched into his faceplates. I retreated blindly, unwilling to look away from him, but only got so far before I met a stretch of wall. The cold steel on my heated back seemed to freeze me in place; I could only watch helplessly as Wasp strode up to me and physically pinned me to the wall with his body.

"You want to know what it was like for me, _Bumblebee_?" he whispered, tone dangerous. I didn't move. His servo came up and wrapped around the base of my throat. I stiffened more than before, joints creaking in protest under the strain.

With his fingers still so dangerously close to so many vital fuel lines, and that terrifying look still glowing in his optics, Wasp leaned in, his faceplates nearly brushing my own as he spoke.

"Fine," was all he said.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I'm sorry for making you guys wait ten whole days after that cliffhanger. x___x And I'm also sorry for giving you another short chapter, but with the events I have planned, I need to be in Bumblebee's point of view. :3

Don't worry, all will be explained. Your questions will be answered. ^^;

I want to give a special thanks to Matilda Saturday for crying for more; Pandablubb for her compliments; PwnKage and Killjou for their wonderful, in-depth reviews and questions; the anonymous reviewer by the name of "poiuni" for his/her sweet review (the review that spurred me to write the last page of this story and get it posted); and, finally, my girlfriend. Valina threw me into an abusive relationship these last ten days, beating me towards my laptop and demanding--"for the sake of my fans"--that I get it done.  
Thanks SO much--to _everyone_, not just the specific people I mentioned. I'll try to be better about updating in the future. Especially now that things are really building. ^^;

Superspecialsidenote: This chapter is basically a smut chapter. XD There's only a little plot progression, but as I said before, that's because the events need to be told from Bee's POV.  
Also, this is unedited and unbeta'd; please forgive any stupid little errors or out-of-characterness you might spot. x___x

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any of its continuities in any way. I make no profit from this story.

* * *

I could see the fear, raw and powerful, in his optics. His entire body was locked up, a metal statue incapable of running away or fighting back. My own anger boiled inside of me, so hot it threatened to melt my internal components. He wanted the scars I had? The eternal pain I felt? Fine, he could slagging _have_ them.

As my fury reached a peak, the yellow bot opened his mouth, as if to speak. I didn't want to hear it, so I dove in and captured his lips with mine. My glossa shoved into his mouth, trying to force his own to engage. He remained still, unmoving, unresponsive, so I experimentally squeezed the fingers wrapped around his neck. He jerked a little--into me, because he had nowhere else to go--and slowly began to comply. His silver appendage came up and twisted around my own. Now that it was active, I ignored it. I focused instead on plundering his mouth, feeling his dentals, practically shoving my glossa down his throat. He whimpered softly, a sound of fear, distress, and very reluctant pleasure.

I broke the liplock and nipped his jaw. A quick glance showed me that his optics were shuttered, but his faceplates were still tense. I smirked slightly, feeling no inclination to relieve that tension, and squeezed my fingers once more. He jerked again, pistons in his chassis hammering away.

It was rough and brutal, the way my mouth wreaked havoc on him. I bit, licked, sucked, _attacked_ every inch of him I could reach, always keeping him on edge, making sure he understood what was happening. His little noises became more and more frequent, but I lost track of whether or not they were out of fear, pain, or pleasure. I stopped caring, in all honesty. He said he wanted what I had. That included nonconsensual interfacing.

It was…enrapturing, the _control_ I had over the mech. I could do anything, and he wouldn't fight back. Even if he did, I could do it anyway. He'd _asked for this_, and now I was giving it to him.

With a soft growl, I sank my dentals into the soft metal of the cords beneath the edge of his shoulder armor. He cried out and jerked again, chassis clanging against my own as his intakes ground to a sudden, violent halt before starting up again, slow and uneven. I had hurt him, bad; I could taste energon in my mouth from a ruptured minor fuel line. He was shaking.

Uncaring, I bit down again. This time his cry threatened to attract others the berthroom, so I moved my servo away from his neck, clamping it over his mouth. My glossa lapped at any leaking energon. He shook harder. Made a muffled sound against my palm. I ignored it and used my free servo to dig in the seams of his hips, tweaking the wires. He whimpered again, shaking with what I knew was the inability to decide if he wanted to arch into or away from my fingers. I disregarded it, giving a particular harsh twist to a thin wire, and he jerked to the side, trying to escape my touch. I smirked again, scraping the tips of my fingers up the seam and over his pelvic plating. It was warm, but only a little more than usual.

"What's wrong?" I asked rhetorically. "Don't you want to know what I went through?"

I punctuated my last sentence by hoisting him up and wrapping his legs around my waist, pinning him to the wall with the weight of my own body. He cried out, surprised, but paused when I repeated myself. Incredibly, the bot sat (hung, rather) and _thought about it_. Apparently unable to decide, he neither denied nor confirmed his desire, instead stilling himself. Except for the involuntary quaking.

Satisfied, I removed my servo from his mouth and used it to further explore his body. As if I didn't already know it by Spark. I touched his chassis, grazed his windshields, skittered down over his abdominal plating. His intakes stuttered, fell into an uneven rhythm, and his helm fell back on the wall. I glanced at his faceplates again, seeing nothing but the warring emotions. _Pain, pleasure, fear, hurt. _He groaned softly as I brushed a sensitive wire, expression relaxing in bliss before scrunching up again in hurt and betrayal. More pleasure with another brush, then raw, tense pain with a sharp twist.

Quickly, I thumbed the latches of his codpiece. He gave a soft cry of surprise and arched away from the wall, simultaneously trying to twist his body away. I smirked and dipped my head to once more nip at his shoulder and neck. He understood the warning and ceased his squirming, though his entire frame continued to shake.

As I pulled back a little and began to slide his pelvic armor off, I heard him whisper my name. It sounded so broken, almost tortured, and _pleading_. I paused and looked up again, smirking, thinking he'd finally given in to his pleasure.

What I found instead was a look of terror, shock, and a plea so obvious it was the same as him screaming for me to stop.

Or punching me in the face.

Abruptly, I jerked back to reality, back to my senses. I felt an almost physical blow as my processor righted itself. I dropped Bumblebee and backed away, reacting as if our positions had been reversed. The fuel in my tanks went bad, churning as it tried to escape, unwilling to stay in my filthy body. My innards twisted and warped painfully…retribution for what I'd done.

"Oh, Primus…" I continued to back up until I hit the edge of a berth. My force propelled me onto my aft, but I didn't move from there. My servos were shaking more violently than Bumblebee's body had throughout my whole…_thing_. "Holy slag…I… Oh, Primus…" I heard myself mutter the same phrase over and over again, but seemed unable to stop.

I was not foolish enough to expect him to comfort me, and so I wasn't disappointed when he didn't. He'd fallen to the floor when I'd ripped away from him. He was still sitting there, not looking at me. His arms were wrapped around his chassis protectively, and I could faintly hear his armor rattling as he shook. Both of us were submerged in trauma, neither able or willing to comfort the other.

The fact the I'd treated Bumblebee with such carelessness and _cruelty_ made me wish I had never met him, had never escaped my old life. This proved that I belonged in the rusted brothels, that I was unfit to try to be a real Autobot. I was capable of attacking someone I cared about, someone I _trusted_; what was I going to be able to do to someone I disliked?

When a servo touched my upper arm, I flinched so badly I nearly toppled over. Dully, I looked up, expecting to see Sentinel there to haul me away for daring to join boot camp with such a defiled record. Instead, I felt another psychological blow that sent my processor reeling when the faceplates of Bumblebee swam into focus. I blinked at him, startled and confused, and he offered me a tentative smile. He was still trembling.

"Hey," he said softly. He gave me a wan smile, optics still watching me warily.

"Don't touch me," I replied, looking away from him.

He twitched his servo away, then settled it more firmly on my arm. I had to give him credit: he was a brave little glitch.

"Look, I…" I didn't look back at him, but I knew he was struggling to find the words. His servo started shaking. "I'm alright. You didn't hurt me. I was just…surprised."

I scoffed and looked back at him, unable to keep the scorn out of my gaze. He flinched again, but only a little.

"Stop lying--to me and to yourself," I snapped. "I did a horrible thing to you, and I hurt your Spark." I looked away, mumbling, "I don't need to break your body to leave scars, Bumblebee."

Amazingly, his servo became steadier with my words, his grip tighter and more confident. I continued to stare at the floor, not wanting to be there, but not willing to hurt him more by leaving. I'd done enough damage; the most I could do was let him reach the decision to forget I existed on his own.

"I know, Wasp," he whispered. I still didn't move, and he went on, voice stronger, "But it…it's my fault. I asked for it. I…provoked you." He hesitated. Then, "I'm sorry."

I couldn't keep my attention diverted after that. My head snapped up, and I glared at him dangerously.

"Don't you _ever_ apologize to me for something that isn't your fault." He opened his mouth, and I cut him off. "This was _not_ your fault. It was mine. _I'm_ the one who lost control, _I'm_ the one who tried to step out of my place in life." He tried to interrupt again, and I said the thing I knew would bring this grinding to a halt. "_I_ am the one who _enjoyed_ taking advantage of you."

That made him stop. He looked at me, wounded and shocked, mouth shut tightly. But his servo didn't move. If anything, his fingers gripped tighter, clutching my arm like a lifeline. I sighed and reached over to pry his grip off.

Just when my fingers made contact with his, he blurted, "Did they ever kiss you?"

My whole body jerked slightly, shaken by the surprise that hit me. I looked up at him, confused, and said, "What?"

"Did they ever kiss you?" he repeated, gaze intent, hiding his hurt of earlier. We both knew who he was talking about, but I didn't know why he was asking this now. What did it matter?

Slowly, I shook my head. Despite myself, I answered, "No."

He didn't comment, didn't even nod or give any other kind of confirmation that he'd heard me. Instead, he fired another question at me: "Did they ever make sure you overloaded?"

"_What_?"

He didn't repeat himself this time; he knew that I'd heard him perfectly well. He merely stared at me, fingers tight on my arm. My own servo had fallen away from his, into my lap. I noticed that it was no longer shaking, but had no recollection of when it had stopped.

Deciding it was best to just answer his questions, as uncomfortable and meaningless as they were, I once again shook my head. "…no," I said softly. I resisted the urge to look away, instead adding, "I told you that already. The night I told you my past. I said that they never cared for my pleasure."

He winced slightly, probably at how blunt and harsh I was being, but nodded.

Then he threw one last question at me, and it felt like he'd reached into my chassis and closed his fingers around my Spark. "Did they ever feel bad about the things they did to you?"

I felt my servos shaking again, very slightly. I glared at him, trying to hide the illogical hurt I felt. I don't even know exactly _why_ his question hurt (because he should know the answer? Because he was forcing me to _think about my past_, when I was upset enough as it was?) but it did, and I didn't want him to see it.

"No," I spat, inwardly scowling at the trace of static in my voice.

For whatever reason, Bumblebee relaxed and smiled slightly. Finally, his fingers loosened and then disappeared from my arm. He moved to stand closer to me.

"That makes you different from them, Wasp," he murmured. He was not shaking at all; my trembling got worse. "Makes you _better_. You feel sick for what you did to me. You hate yourself. You think you should leave and never come back, never see me again." I glared at him, wanting to punch him for laying my feelings out like that. They were _my_ feelings, slag it.

"It doesn't matter if I _regret it_," I snapped. "I still _did_ it. And that means I could do it again."

He shook his head, that stupid little smile still on his lips. He sat down next to me, touching his knee to mine. I shifted away and he followed. I glared at him.

"You won't do it again, Wasp," he said softly.

"How the slag do you know?!" I demanded, voice rising with my anger. "You're not me! You don't know how I work!"

"Maybe not," he said softly, looking up at me, "but I'm willing to risk it. I…" He shook his head and sighed, finally breaking his gaze from mine.

"_I'm_ not willing to risk it. I'm not going to give myself the chance to hurt you again, Bumblebee." I could hear a dangerous confession--to myself and to him--beneath those words, but ignored it. I hoped he would, too.

He sighed and looked at me again, somehow attracting my own gaze. We stared at each other, both scowling, neither willing to back down.

I just had to push it, to _get my point across_. "I'm bad for you," I said softly.

Suddenly, he was angry. He jumped to his peds, flinging his arms out to the side, and got in my face. I could feel the anger and frustration radiating off of him as he shouted, "No, you're not! _Longarm_ is bad for me! Longarm _wants_ to do horrible things to me, to hurt me and destroy my will. Longarm wouldn't have stopped! He would have kept going and not cared if I wanted to offline myself afterwards! I mean _nothing_ to him."

He looked for a moment like he was going to punch me, like that would knock sense into me, but then he suddenly seemed to implode, collapsing in on himself. His arms fell to his sides, his head bowed slightly, and his voice was much quieter when he spoke again.

"The fact that you don't _want_ to hurt me shows that you _won't_." I opened my mouth to speak, and he must have sensed it, because he kept talking, though his voice was a little louder. "_You'll stop yourself _before you can do it again. You're _not_ a bad person, Wasp. Having a bad past doesn't shape your personality." He looked at me, frowning, and folded his arms over his chassis. He sat down on the berth--Ironhide's, now that I was calm enough to take note. "No, I take that back. It does. But if anything, I think your past has taught you what _not_ to be, and made you a really _good_ person. You're certainly better than Longarm or Ironhide."

I glared at him for several astroseconds, processor reeling, grasping for a snappy comeback. Finding none, I gave a wordless cry, threw my servos in the air, and walked away. I ignored Bee's cries for me to come back, his questions asking where was I going. I could no longer logically argue against him, not after all his good points, and I was getting tired of being around him. I still felt like I was a horrible 'bot, and I was incredibly frustrated with the fact that the stupid yellow mech was trying (and pretty much succeeding) in talking me out of that feeling.

* * *

Over the next few solar cycles, things seemed to return to normal. I noticed a slight distance in Bumblebee that was completely expected, though not entirely painless. It seemed to grow as the days went on; we hung out less often, spoke even more rarely. During our free periods, I had a hard time finding him, though I wrote it off as him not being as…unhurt as he'd originally claimed, and not wanting to be near me. Slag, I couldn't say I blamed him; I didn't want to be near me. Lucky him, he could actually get away.

However, when he was around, we spent our time in silence. It was slightly awkward, at least for me. I didn't know what to say, or if there was even anything _to_ say. I didn't want to broach the subject of the trauma that still hung between us, thick and heavy, but I couldn't move past it, either, for the very same reason. I needed resolution, and I didn't feel like I'd gotten it.

Bumblebee, though, apparently did, because he had no problems making physical contact. It started as a soft touch to my shoulder, something that could be considered friendly or comforting or reassuring, but soon grew beyond that. He wasn't too blunt with it, but he still made his desire known. Unbelievably, he wanted to be intimate with me. I couldn't tell if it was a brave face, something to make me get over my own issues, or the truth.

What I _could_ tell was that he was getting more desperate as time went on. His touches became urgent, always pushing for more, his gaze pleading, lips set in a pouty frown. If I asked him why he was so desperate, he would only stop touching me altogether, look away and refuse to answer. It was always shortly afterwards that he would mumble something barely discernable and leave. I was lucky if I saw him again for the rest of the day.

I could feel my resolve slowly being chipped away, but some instinct told me it wasn't fast enough. I sensed that he was soon going to give up on me completely, and when that happened, there would be no going back. It wouldn't matter if I decided something potentially life changing--there would be no opening that door once it had shut.

But should I give in to try to keep him at my side? _Could_ I? Would it be too unbearably pathetic to take that next intimate step, just to ensure his continued presence in my life?

I never really reached a decision on my own.

We did finally interface all the way. It was very…anticlimactic, considering all the drama that had been leading up to and circling around it. There was no huge epiphany, no final struggle and surrender. It simply…happened. Our touches went too far; I just decided not to bring it to an end like I had every time previous.

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. I think maybe he didn't want to risk bringing it to my attention and thereby making me stop. I didn't blame him; I probably would have if he'd questioned it.

It was better than I could have imagined, touching him without hesitation, without knowing I would have to stop. Things quickly became heated, with the both of us clinging to one another, aching to touch and taste and _feel_ every inch. My servos roamed his body, fingers dipping into every little crevice, glossa tracing patterns. He touched me back, though I barely noticed it. As bad as it sounds, I was becoming more aroused by making him feel good, getting his systems hot, than by his actual touches.

"W-Wasp," he groaned, right in my audio processor.

I groaned back, shivered, and bit down on his neck cables, gently but still enough to sting. His whole body twitched up into mine, his dentals clenched and his intakes pulled air through them, making a hissing sound. His fingers gripped my arms, pulled me closer, his legs wrapped around my waist. I made a noise similar to a whimper and pressed my heated pelvic armor to his, pulling my face back from his neck. We made hazy, unfocused optic contact, and so many silent words were exchanged in that moment.

I knew that, in taking this step, something was going to forever change. The moment leading up to our interfacing may not have been the kind of thing shown in femme flicks, but the aftermath certainly would be.

"Are you sure?" I asked him, frowning and pulling back a little more. I still had self-doubts, but I would push them out of the way if this was truly what Bumblebee wanted. His gaze sharpened, and he frowned back, very slightly.

"Yes," he said softly, and there was no hesitation, no uncertainty.

I silenced that nagging voice in the back of my processor and nodded. He remained tense, optics stretched wide in surprise, and then he relaxed in one fluid motion. He pulled me down as I leaned in, and our lips met. It was a quick, hungry kiss, one deigned only good enough to relay our excitement.

I once again pressed my pelvic armor to his and moved in little circles, pulling a whine from his vocal processor as he arched up into me. I swallowed the noise and ground harder, though I was careful of our paint. I was grateful that we were secluded in a rarely-used storage shed, able to be (mostly) unrestrained. I wanted to be able to hear him, see him, really _experience_ him, when I took him for the first time.

We broke apart, and I nibbled my way down his body. Kissing, licking, nipping, sucking--I couldn't get enough of him. I made my way up and down his frame repeatedly; my fingers continued to search and probe, teasing every sensitive wire, gently pinching every tender cord. He dissolved in to a pile of quivering scrap, squirming and arching, unable to decide which touch he wanted to lean into. My lips were wrapped around the sensor node in his neck, two fingers on my right servo buried in his hip joint, one finger on my left teasing the seams of his pelvic armor. He moaned and bucked, then curled in on himself, then bucked again, squirming from side to side.

"Wasp…!" he whimpered my name, pleading with me, and I groaned softly in response. The raw, static-laced edge to his voice was nearly my undoing, and perhaps he sensed it, because he spoke again. "_Please_."

Shivering, I bit down on a cord in his neck, a little harder than I'd intended. I was afraid for a moment that I'd hurt him, but he merely groaned and arched into it. I smirked slightly and bit again, a little harder. His intakes stuttered and his core temperature climbed a few more degrees, body wracked with shivers of delight.

Amazing how, at a certain level of arousal, pain is translated into pleasure.

I didn't push my luck, however, and pulled back instead of biting down again. He made a soft, panicked gasping noise and onlined his optics, searching for me. He relaxed only when he found me and felt my servos on his codpiece. I saw one pouty lip disappear between two rows of dentals for a nanoklik or two, and when I flipped up the latches on his armor, Bee offlined those blue orbs once more.

I was surprised at my own lack of hesitation as I discarded his codpiece and then did the same with my own. He and I were both incredibly aroused; our cords were fully extended, our ports nearly dripping. Bumblebee began to shiver almost violently, no doubt anticipating my entry.

I felt a flash of dread and self-doubt, but I shoved it away as I leaned over the yellow mech. I _wanted_ _this_, and I wasn't about to back out now. My faceplates became obscured by his neck as I bowed my head and aligned myself with his port. We stayed like that, frozen and nearly overheating, for what seemed to be a small eternity.

Then he broke the strange moment by shifting himself, one leg once again wrapping around my waist. It was a slightly awkward position for him, but neither of us cared, because his port brushed my cord, and I could no longer hold back. I pushed forward, sheathing myself in his wet heat, gritting my dentals to keep from moaning aloud. His port was tighter than any of the femme's I'd ever 'faced with, and seemed to encompass my length perfectly.

For the first time, I could feel his personal energy field snapping against my own, crackling over our bodies. It was bliss when it convulsed through his port, and my own field responded. I almost refused to move, wanting only to experience that pleasure.

But Bee's other leg joined the first, and he pulled himself up against me. It occurred to me that I hadn't heard him make a noise when I'd entered, but I chose to write it off as having been too wrapped up in the sensations flooding my own body. Slowly, I pulled back until I was halfway out, then pushed forward again, just as slowly. The bot beneath me made a noise somewhere between a moan of bliss and a groan of frustration. I smirked again and chuckled softly, once again seeking out the sensor node in his neck. I wrapped my lips around it, slowly, pulling myself out of his port at the same time. Then, just before I was fully unsheathed, I paused for a split second. I could feel him trembling.

With a small, involuntary grunt, I snapped my hips forward, filling him quickly and somewhat roughly. At the same moment, I sucked on his sensor node, flicking the tip of my glossa over it.

He cried out something that sounded like a mix between a curse and my name, arching up and wrapping his arms around me. His frame rattled with the force of his quakes; I half feared he'd shake himself apart.

Wrapped tightly around one another, we submerged ourselves in pleasure. My thrusts alternated between slow and teasing to hard and desperate. Back and forth, always changing it up when I could feel him slipping into a rhythm. He was panting heavily, vents struggling to take in enough air to keep his systems from overheating. Our core temperatures rose together, condensation forming on our armor just long enough to evaporate with inaudible sizzles. I could tell he was becoming almost distraught by my teasing him, by the way I never allowed him to slip into a steady stream of pleasure.

"Say my name, Bee," I murmured, lips brushing his audio receptor. I punctuated the request with a hard thrust, and he cried out--a raw, blissful sound--when I brushed that sweet spot deep inside of him.

"Wasp," he whimpered, clutching me closer, lifting his hips. "Wasp, oh, Wasp. _Please_, do that again."

I hesitated, just long enough to pull another wanton whimper from him, and then complied. I bucked my hips forward, angling my thrust so that I would brush that spot. He cried out and bit his bottom lip component, legs tightening around my waist. I did it again, and again, and _again_, relishing his shouts and moans and whimpers and bucks of ecstasy, lavishing the sensor node in his neck.

This time I didn't change it up. I allowed us to fall into the rhythm, and we fell fast. After a few seconds, he was lifting his hips to meet my thrusts, an action that forced my cord in deeper, angled it to strike his sweet spot full on. His cries escalated; mine got softer, more rare. I was absorbed in the act of interfacing as it was meant to be done, with someone who treasured every lick and nibble and kiss, someone who wanted me as badly as I wanted them.

Someone I _loved_.

"Wasp," he gasped.

He onlined his optics just as I unshuttered mine. We looked at each other, both building to that peak. Electricity crackled around us, over us, _through_ us. Our core temperatures shot up at the same moment, our energy fields flexed and _merged_, and oh, Primus, it felt _so good_.

"Wasp," whimpered Bumblebee, blunt fingertips scrabbling at my back. "Wasp, oh Primus, yes."

He grunted wordlessly then, arching into me. Our chassis touched, and I felt my Spark pulse, reaching forward as if to grasp his. I could feel his pulse, too, and by his gasp, guessed it had reacted the same way. I groaned softly and lifted my head from where it had fallen against his neck. Unthinking, _uncaring_, I pressed my lips to his and gave in to the tension building in my body. I let go, thrusting into Bee's tight port with everything I had. He responded by crying out loudly against my lips, entwining his glossa with mine.

It was like that, pressed together and wrapped around each other, that we overloaded.

He was the first to go, and I followed only a nanoklik later. We swallowed each other's cries and moans, shivered at the rippling of our energy fields, bucked and writhed at the pleasure that brutally ripped its way through our bodies.

I don't know how long our overloads lasted; my chronometer shorted out with the rest of my systems. The first memory file I have is the feeling of pulling out of Bee, and the reluctance to do so. Our energy fields separated again, and I could have sworn they hissed with displeasure. His arms and legs fell away from me as I retreated from his form; his cooling fans--and mine--were screaming with effort.

However, I took pleasure in noting that Bumblebee was offline, knocked out by the overload _I'd_ given him.

I knew we both needed to clean up, but I was too low on energy to care. We could do it later. So I merely replaced our pelvic armor, making sure no lubricant had been left anywhere, and lay down next to him.

Just before I drifted off to recharge, I took Bee's servo in my own. I felt a small, involuntary smile touch my lips, and then…nothing.

In the following solar cycles, my life was turned upside down, havoc wreaked upon it, but not once did I ever regret taking that final step with Bumblebee.

After all…I loved him.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: UGH. OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY.  
I should NOT have let this take a month and a half to be updated. I'm so, so sorry. ;_; (And unbeta'd, too, oh noes.)

I have a couple of things to address:  
1) I totally didn't mean for Wasp to come off as Edward Cullen-ish, and I just wanted to clear some stuff up. He's not really acting like Edward. He doesn't honestly believe he's bad for Bumblebee, he was only panicking over what he'd done. He wants to be with Bumblebee, and he would NEVER pull some "I'm going to leave you even if being without you kills me." His life doesn't rely on Bee, and if Bee wanted to leave, Wasp would let him.  
2) Wasp and Bumblebee are not bonded. They've had sex like how humans do, but they're not bonded. They haven't exposed their Sparks to one another, and that's a major requirement for Spark-bonding. XD;

Happy Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Yule/whateverelseyoucelebrate. This story isn't going to be much longer, so I'll try to update soon. But...not likely. Those of you who watch me on DeviantART know what's up.  
Nonetheless, you guys rock for sticking around this long. -heartsssss-

Also, cheesy dialogue is cheesy. And OoC-ish Bee is FAIL. ;;A;;  
Alsox2, LOL at the movie!Bee reference. XD Bonus points to anyone who catches it (not that it's hard to catch ¬3¬;).

Alright, that's all I have to say about...stuff. On to the story~

* * *

Life was Pit. But it was so _good_, too. So what if I was virtually being held prisoner? Wasp and I had become...I knew he was very close to me. I might even have gone as far as saying he was in love with me. And that was good.

Right?

If I was honest with myself, I had to admit I wasn't sure that was a good thing. I could hurt him…and, with my situation now, I probably would. Something bad was bound to happen, and it was going to be my fault.

"What's wrong, little Bee?" Condescending, sarcastic. Hurtful. "Got something on your processor?"

"...yes." Quiet, monotone. Guarded.

His arms snaked around me, and I shivered. Not from pleasure, but from disgust. Every touch from him made me want to throw myself into a vat of acid. I hated this, my situation, being so utterly boxed in.

But if I left, or refused him, he would expose Wasp. And I couldn't allow that to happen. I wasn't one-hundred percent sure he loved me, but I knew that I loved him. I would make this sacrifice.

"What is it?" I nearly winced; that had a vicious, warning undertone to it. I scrambled to think of a lie. Why had I even said 'yes' in the first place?

"...nothing," I finally said, rather lamely. I was careful to keep my voice even and flat.

He "tsk"ed, and this time I did wince. I didn't lift my head to look at him, so he grabbed my chin and forced me to. I shivered again, wishing more than anything that I could draw away, leave this dark room and escape that icy blue stare. Wishing that I could tell Wasp about my problems, or report them to Sentinel. But, of course, both options were...not an option.

"Now, now, little Bee," he murmured, a fake, sickening smile curling at his lips. "You know I detest liars. Why don't you tell me what's really on your processor." It wasn't a question.

I nodded, slowly. Again my processor raced, and I forced myself to think up something suitable.

"I was just thinking about training. Boot camp in general." I forced a small, insincere smile. "We're almost done. Just a few more deca-cycles, and we're all going to be released into the...the real world."

This time his smile was true, but it was even more ugly. It made the fuel in my tanks go bad, and I looked away without meaning to. His fingers tightened, a warning, and I looked back.

"Yes, that's true," he said, "but you'll stay by my side. I'll make sure of it."

"I-I wasn't saying--"

Suddenly, the smile was gone, wiped away. I wondered if it had ever been there to begin with. He pulled my face closer to his; our nasal ridges were nearly touching as he spoke. His fingers were hurting my jaw.

"_Stop lying_," he snarled. "I know perfectly well that you were implying you could escape me once you graduated. But that is not an option, my little Bee. I've fought hard for my prize, and I'm loathe to give it up."

I hated when he spoke about me like that. It made me want to punch him. And it really fragged me off that I couldn't. Instead, just to please him and make him stop, I lowered my gaze submissively. I could feel him smirk.

"Now, what do you say?"

"...I'm sorry," I murmured.

His fingers tightened once more on my jaw, and I winced again. "What else?"

"I...won't do it again. I won't think of ways to lie, deceive, or run away from you."

I hoped he would let me go, but he didn't. He merely waited, silent and tense.

"I...I promise," I hesitated, then tacked on, "Longarm."

He applied pressure to the bottom of my jaw, signaling me to look up again. I did so, and I saw in his gaze what he was expecting of me. I tried hard not to grimace--I hated the word with all of my Spark, and I avoided saying it whenever I could. But he made it clear what would happen if I defied him now. The wandering fingers of his other servo did, anyway.

"M..._Master_ Longarm," I finally gritted out. I had to curl my fingers into fists to keep myself from reaching into my mouth and ripping out my own glossa.

He smirked, and a disgustingly familiar gleam entered his optics. I shivered once more, instinctively pulling away a little. The word had only made him happy, and because he was just _that_ fragging generous, he was going to _share_ his joy. Lucky me.

"Please," I whispered, turning my head to the side. He didn't make me look back, and I knew then that anything I said wouldn't help me. He was in his Master Mode, and he _liked_ the hurt it caused me, liked when I pleaded and wanted to purge my fuel tanks. "Don't do this again. I...can't..."

I couldn't think of an excuse--would _never _be able to think of an excuse--that would satisfy him. He wanted me, and he would have me, even if I protested. He honestly didn't _care_.

The thought made me shutter my optics and cringe away. I couldn't do this again, couldn't take his violation _again_.

Longarm pulled me back, forced my chassis against his. I could feel how heated he already was, and kept my optics shuttered. He leaned in close and whispered against my audio processor as his fingers traced rough patterns on my back.

"You will think of me," he said. Again, his voice had that dangerous undertone. "And you will call me 'Master.' Understood?"

I did nothing, and he dug the tips of his fingers beneath some plating that wasn't meant to be lifted. I cried out and nodded, words gushing forth as burning pain seared my back, "Yes, alright! I understand, I get it, please, just stop!" He dug in a little more, and I felt a few wires snap as they were pulled too tight. I let out a sob-like noise of pain, and through gritted dentals, added, "Please, Master...I understand. Stop hurting me...!"

Finally satisfied, his servo retreated and I relaxed with a small groan. He pulled me closer, forcing my helm to rest against his chassis. My intakes were working harder than usual, my body having heated up under the physical strain. Soon my cooling fans would kick on, and he would take me. Same as always. In a way, I was thankful; it never allowed me time to start enjoying it.

Interfacing with Longarm wasn't betraying Wasp. Because I didn't like doing it. I had to keep telling myself that.

I felt more fingers on the back of my neck, stroking with the very tips, versus the pads. It was like he was trying to scratch, but…Autobots don't have claws. I wondered why he was doing it that way, then decided I really didn't want to think that deeply into it. He could do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't force me to enjoy it, be active in it, and didn't endanger Wasp's military career. It didn't matter _how_ he did it, and finding out _why_ would be taking an active role.

Longarm dipped his head and ran the tip of his glossa over the sensor node in my neck. I shivered, and my cooling fans turned over once. I urged them to start, but they didn't, not yet.

However, it became clear that the mech who'd blackmailed me into being his pet was impatient to satisfy himself, because he wrapped his lips around the node and sucked gently. I couldn't suppress the soft moan as one of my most sensitive spots was stimulated, and I felt my core temperature climb a few degrees. Then he flicked his glossa over it again, and I thought of Wasp. My cooling fans kicked in then, along with another, louder moan tearing itself free of my lips.

Suddenly, I was turned around. No longer was I sitting in Longarm's lap, face-to-face with him. Now I had my back to his chassis, and he was already unclasping my pelvic armor. I relaxed very slightly, knowing it would be over soon, and I would be free to leave. He always dismissed me when he was done 'facing me.

"What do you say, my little Bee?" he purred in my audio receptor, making me jump. His fingers grazed the edge of my unclasped codpiece, teasing, trying to pull a reaction from me. I played into the role, whimpering softly and arching my hips, my own fingers gently squeezing his thigh plating.

"Please," I whined, writhing myself in his lap so that my aft rubbed against his pelvic armor. I felt him shiver and had to contain my smirk as I fed the lie, "Please, Master, take me. I want you...!"

Though my glossa and Spark burned with every word, every faked pant, I knew this act was necessary. And it was quicker than making him take the time to truly pleasure me. This was just so much easier, for both of us, in different ways. He got off when he wanted to, and I got away sooner. Win-win situation.

...right?

I felt Longarm hum against my neck, and I groaned softly, arching my back strut. Again, playing into the role, pushing my hips down into the fingers still teasing the seams of my pelvic armor. I whimpered out another generic plea, and suddenly his servo was cupping my covered port.

"You truly want me, my Bee?" he murmured, tracing the tip of his finger around what we both knew was the edge of my opening. "You want me inside you? Do you ache for me, my pet?"

I gasped, not entirely faked this time, and felt my legs begin to quiver. "Y-yes," I stammered, gripping his thigh plating tighter. "Please, my Master...take me."

"Am I better than Wasp?" he asked, ignoring my pleas. His fingers slipped beneath the seams of my armor, and he somehow managed to tease the outside of my port without removing my codpiece. I whimpered again, once more feeling real pleasure lance through my systems.

"...yes," I finally whispered, head bowing forward slightly. "You're...far better than him. You...you fill me up more. And you know how to touch me better than he does."

"Oh?" He slipped my armor off, and went back to tracing my opening.

"Yes...M-Master." I spoke hesitantly and arched into the touch, trying to cover up my pause; wanting this to just be _over already_.

"Then why..." he began, and I knew I was in trouble. Before I could think, he shoved three thick fingers into me, and my scream rent the air. His free servo covered my mouth, effectively silencing me, and his fingers began to mercilessly move in and out. He continued to speak, and I only barely registered what he was saying, "…have I never managed to bring you to overload, yet I know for a fact Wasp has done it every time you two have been intimate?"

I gasped, focused more on the fact that he somehow _knew_ about everything Wasp and I had done than having been caught in a third lie. I unshuttered my optics and tried to twist to look at him, but he kept me held firmly in place. His fingers, which had paused at my gasp, began to move again, and once more I shuttered my optics.

"H-How did you know?!" I demanded in a cracked and muffled voice, falling out of my roll. He didn't seem to mind this time, though I think that was because he was being handed a chance to brag about his brilliance. He even stopped his fingers again.

"I bugged the whole camp, of course," he retorted. When it didn't click into place in my processor, he sighed and said, "You really are stupid, aren't you? I aspire to become the head communications officer. Obviously, it would be nice to start as a trainee, and get a feel for it." He shrugged. "I like being in control." That was the pure truth, but before I could react, he added, "Besides, Bumblebee…" He lips came to my audio unit, brushing them with each whispered word, "How else would I know Wasp's secret?"

It made a chilling kind of sense, and suddenly I was doubled over, chassis heaving. I was physically sick at the idea of Longarm having listened into _everything_ Wasp and I had done, everything we'd said. Had he shown anyone else any of it? I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Only his hand, still covering my mouth, kept me from really letting go and purging my fuel tanks.

It passed as quickly as it had come, and I slowly, warily straightened up again. If it wasn't for the churning of my tanks, I would have felt like I'd faked the heaving. I ignored the burning and aching of my port, the way his fingers were slick with what was definitely _not_ lubrication.

"...how long?" I finally asked. I made sure to clench my innards, in case his words made me sick again.

Longarm dipped his head and pressed his lips to my audio receiver. I flinched, and he pressed his fingers further into me, so with a whine-sob, I relaxed again, leaning back into him.

"Since the first time Wasp attacked me," he said softly. "The first time I tried to conquer you. I knew there was something suspicious going on, because he _had_ been spending a lot of time with you. His attitude toward you and everyone else at camp had done a complete turn-around." I felt him smirk. "So I, ah..._enlisted_ the help of Ironhide."

I shivered, and before I could stop myself, I spat, "You're weak."

There was a pause. I tensed (again ignoring the increased burning between my legs) but he only muttered, "Excuse me?"

"You were hiding behind Ironhide" Uh-oh. This wasn't going to end well. "You were jealous of Wasp, and instead of trying to be _nice_ to me, you had to take me by force." Oh, Primus, I was so screwed. I could feel it building, the tension, the _anger_. "And you used Ironhide's hurt at having suddenly lost his best friend to corner me. Because you couldn't do it yourself." I was in so far; why not go all the way? "Fragging _coward_."

Before I could think, his fingers were out of my port and around my throat. I found myself pressed against a wall without any memory of having made the journey there.

I could smell my own energon as it dripped from his fingers and down my neck.

"Don't you _ever_ call me weak or cowardly," he snarled. I unshuttered my optics, and somehow wasn't surprised to see his faceplates right in front of mine. "I am anything but, little bug, and you will treat me with the proper respect."

I spat in his face.

He didn't move away, didn't even blink. Instead, with his face still twisted into a dark, ugly sneer, he began to slowly, steadily tighten his fingers. They felt sharper than I thought they should, but that could have just been my processor imagining things because I was beginning to silently panic. I could feel the flexible metal of my main air vent bend, and the areas of my shoulders and just beneath my jaw began to feel like they were being ripped open as my fuel lines were pulled tight. He stopped just short of crushing my throat and ripping out the fuel lines.

Throughout this process, which seemed to take megacycles, (but was clocked by my internal chronometer as about one cycle) I didn't cry out, didn't take any of it back or apologize. Even though I was panicking inside, I just stared stoically into his mad blue optics, waiting silently for him to kill me. I almost hoped he would. It would allow me to escape.

We waited like that for a long time, neither moving, neither backing down.

Then, finally, he reached up with his free servo and wiped away the lubrication I spit at him. He smeared it on my chassis, twitched his fingers one more time, and then let go. I fell to the floor, in taking huge, greedy gulps of air. My internal components were hot from the lack of air, and my processor had begun to go a little fuzzy. Now everything cooled and clarified, unseating me for several astroseconds.

He literally kicked me while I was down, and I fell over. I stayed where I was, knowing that he was almost done, that he would leave soon. Maybe he'd still use my body; if he did, it wouldn't take long.

"I spared you this time, my _pet_, but the next time you disrespect me..." He crouched down, and an evil smile touched his lips. "I will kill you. Understand?"

"Yes," I said. Or, tried to. My voice capacitor wasn't working, and I frowned.

"Tsk, tsk, that's not good," murmured Longarm. He reached his servo out to me, smiling kindly. Once again, the nice Autobot façade was up, hiding the monster that lurked beneath the surface. It was extremely unsettling. "Come on, Bumblebee, we'll get you properly dressed and to the medical bay."

Afraid of how close to the surface that monster was, I took the offered servo. He helped me to my peds, and I grimaced at the burning ache, and the feeling of energon leaking from my port. My throat also felt very tight. I wondered vaguely if any of the damage was permanent.

Together, we got my pelvic armor back on (because I was in too much pain to do it on my own), cleaned up my legs and neck, and then he half-carried me out of the dimly-lit storage shed. We began walking to the med bay, with Longarm supporting me much more than was necessary. He made me look like I was seriously injured and couldn't walk on my own.

We were almost there when, of course, we ran into someone.

Three guesses who.

"Bumblebee?" asked Wasp incredulously, staring at me with wide optics. I grimaced and waved, ignoring the way Longarm very subtly squeezed my hip joint. "What are you doing with _Longarm_?"

I opened my mouth to speak, then remembered that I had no voice. I frowned and gave him an apologetic look, then looked up to Longarm. Maybe, just maybe, he'd do something kinda nice and at least give Wasp _some_ sort of explanation.

Nope. His face was blank, and he was staring in the direction of the med bay, completely ignoring Wasp's presence. So I looked back to the green mech (_oh_, that look on his face hurt) and motioned for him to wait there. Longarm squeezed my hip again; I ignored it and, hoping dearly that Wasp had understood my servo gestures, continued on to the med bay.

I wasn't in there long, but it was still longer than I had expected, and it was definitely more personal than I'd wanted.

The medic--I don't remember his name, it was something…medical--had immediately hurried to my side when Longarm and I walked in. As he was doing a scan of my body, Longarm explained that he'd found me like that, and didn't know what exactly was wrong. All he knew was that I'd had energon running down my legs from underneath my codpiece, and was unable to talk. He left out the part about my back armor plates, but I figured it didn't matter much. They wouldn't take long to heal, and, of course, sent the med bot had been sent into a frenzy already. I glared at Longarm. I'd been hoping to keep my damaged port a secret, let it repair on its own--I'd deal with the pain if it meant not having to interface with Longarm for a while--but that wasn't going to happen. And I understood why; Longarm's desires were different from mine, and right now, he held all the cards.

The first thing the med bot repaired was my vocal processor. It stung like Pit, and was extremely…weird, seeing sparks emitting from my throat like that, but I didn't complain. (I couldn't have if I'd wanted to anyway, since I wasn't able to talk until it was completely done.) He fixed it, then brought it back online. I thanked him, and was relieved to hear that my voice hadn't changed at all. Longarm seemed to be, too; he relaxed only enough for me to pick up on it.

"Now, why don't you tell me what happened? And I didn't catch your name." It was an indirect command to offer up my designation, and I obeyed with a sigh.

"Bumblebee," I said softly. He nodded, and I shrugged. "There's nothing to tell."

He "tsk"ed and shook his head, looking pointedly at the pelvic armor he was preparing to remove. I frowned and looked away, folding my arms over my chassis. I didn't want to talk about it, but the medic was having none of that.

"Who's your closest friend?" he asked kindly, trying to warm me up.

"Wasp," I answered.

"And where was he when you...?" Again, he trailed off, this time not having enough information to finish the sentence.

"I don't know. Not with me." I was giving short answers, trying to tell the medic, without telling him, to stuff it up his tail pipe and fix me in silence. "I was alone. Then suddenly I wasn't." I shrugged again, frowning when my pelvic armor was gingerly removed. I winced when the 'bot touched my port, but managed to keep myself from flinching away.

"I see," he said softly. "And what do you remember?"

I hesitated, then decided to give some accurate information.

"Sharp fingers," I said softly, shuttering my optics. "Almost like claws, but...not. Half-claws. They were squeezing my throat. Then pain. In my neck and in my port."

I unshuttered my optics and looked down at the medic, who was poking and prodding around the inside of my port. I ignored Longarm; I don't even remember where he was standing then. I wasn't embarrassed by the medic's attention, but it was certainly uncomfortable.

"Well, the damage here is extensive," he said with a sigh. He stood up and stripped off the protective covering he'd put over his servos, then gestured between my legs. "Whoever did it didn't care about hurting you. In fact, it's almost as if he was _trying_ to." I winced, knowing how true those words were, and tried not to glance at Longarm. "But you'll be fine. I realigned everything and put in rudimentary patches. It will all heal itself sometime in the next seven solar-cycles. Your voice will be fine, too."

I smiled slightly and nodded, replacing my codpiece. I refused the help of both the medic and the mech who had _put_ me in the repair bay.

As I was hopping off the examination berth to leave, (and wincing at the sharp pain between my legs) the med 'bot cleared his vocal processor. I looked at him, and the expression on his face was awkward. I knew what he was going to say a nanoklik before he said it.

"Just, ah... Try to be careful. Don't overexert yourself, and don't, um... Don't take on more than you can handle." He paused, then added in a more professional tone, "And no kinds of physical activities until you're all healed up. I'll notify Sentinel; you'll be excused from training for the next seven solar-cycles."

I frowned and nodded, not deigning a response to his advice. It was insulting; he knew the damage was from interfacing of some sort, and instead of taking it seriously, he wrote it off as me being too frivolous in my _activities_.

Looking back, I can't help but wonder: if he _had_ been more concerned and asked more questions...would things have gone differently? Would it have changed anything?

I've never had an answer for either question.

Miffed, and still in a decent amount of pain, I left the medical bay. I batted away Longarm's servo, not caring what punishment it would earn me later. I was not going to walk back outside in his arms. I would not do that to Wasp.

However, just inside of the door, Longarm pulled me to the side. I glanced at the medic; he was absorbed in something else, and his back was to us. I scowled and looked back up into the teal mech's faceplates.

"_What_?" I hissed.

He smiled, keeping a kind look to his faceplates. But his tone was deadly, and I understood that the look was only a precaution in case the medic turned around.

"You will not speak the truth of this to Wasp, Bulkhead, Ironhide, Sentinel, or any other 'bot you may encounter. You will deflect all questions or give vague answers." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. His mask slipped a little. "In other words, little Bee, you will not risk my personal health or career in anyway. If I find that you've spilled more than I think you should, you will pay the price." I gave me a twisted smile, somewhere between a smirk and a grin. "Disobedience must be responded to with the proper punishment. I'm sure you understand that much by now."

"Yeah. I get it." I stared up at him, keeping my expression and tone flat. "Won't say anything, promise."

Then I slipped past him and out the door before he could stop me.

Wasp wasn't where I'd left him. No, he either hadn't gotten my message, or had ignored it, and he'd slipped closer to the med bay. I nearly ran into him as I hurried to put distance between myself and that wretched mech who I _knew_ was watching my every movement.

"What the f--Bumblebee!" Wasp called out, tailing me as I pushed past him, too. He caught up and fell into step, reaching out to grasp my upper arm. "What's going on? Why were you with him? Did he hurt--?"

"No, Wasp," I snapped, stopping in my tracks and glaring at him. I knew he didn't deserve my anger, but right then I couldn't calm myself enough to spare him from it. "I'm fine. I fell and hurt myself; he found me and took me to the medical bay." At his disbelieving look, I added, "That's _all_."

Then I pulled my arm free and turned my back. As I walked away, trying to calm the maelstrom of emotions tugging at--drowning--my Spark, I felt the green mech's wounded gaze follow me. I knew this was going to escalate, and I worried that anything I did would only speed up the process.

* * *

"Stop... S-stop!"

I grit my dentals and shuttered my optics, blocking out the pain, the intrusion. My right servo came up to cover my lips; it was shaking.

My voice, muffled now, issued forth again, "Please...please stop...! Primus, I...nng!"

I heard a chuckle, and pain lanced through my abdomen as pleasure flooded from my chest. I was being torn in half while the gentlest touches calmed my quivering Spark. My chamber plating was hot, my chest plates retracted and groaning with the effort to stay open. My every instinct screamed for me to guard myself from this mech, to preserve my essence.

"Hush, little Bee," murmured Longarm, lip components brushing my audio unit. His fingers squeezed the casing around my Spark again, taking care not to do so too hard; heat, not quite pleasurable, flooded my sensors. His four digits curled inside my port, stretching it further. I let out a mangled scream. "You don't want someone to walk in, do you?"

At this point, I didn't care. I just wanted to be _away_, to be _free_.

But I couldn't make myself call out for help.

"Please, just...just s-stop. It hurts. I c-can't do th-this!" My voice was a whimper, broken and painful; raw.

It earned a chuckle, a thrust, and another teasing squeeze. A touch I knew was a warning. _Shut up or I'll deactivate you here and now._

Struggling, I pressed my servo tighter to my lips, keeping my optics shuttered as tightly as I could. It took all of my strength to just keep my chest open, keep myself so _exposed_. It was sick, how I had to willingly allow him to touch my Spark, taint it...but that was what he was aiming for. He was trying to break me.

I heard myself crack, and a little piece fell away.

I fell with it, into darkness, unable to face the reality of my situation.

* * *

I rebooted alone. I was in the same place I was when I'd fallen into emergency stasis: laying on a couple of crates pushed together in a dark storage shed. My codpiece had been replaced, but my fluids hadn't been cleaned up, and pain throbbed from between my legs. Static hissed briefly in my audio units; my equilibrium chip nearly fizzled out as I sat up, carefully, gritting my dentals. I knew I couldn't go to the med bay again (too many questions, an investigation, and _Wasp's career out the window_); I was going to have to deal with these injuries and hope that they didn't heal improperly.

It was torture to make my way back to the bunkroom, unsupported, and not let myself be doubled over or limping. Or crawling. I forced myself to walk normally, trying valiantly to keep the grimace from my face, too.

Thankfully, I made it back alright, and it was deserted when I got there. I collapsed onto my berth, absently checking my internal chronometer. I had been unconscious for twenty cycles...long enough for someone to have _maybe_ noticed my absence, but not likely.

I almost hoped that someone would force answers out of me. I had been distant and vague in the three days since my trip to the med bay; everyone had noticed that tension between me and Wasp, but no one--not even Bulkhead--commented on it. Sentinel had given me a dirty look, and then given Wasp a filthy one, but had said nothing. Presumably, the medic told him of my injuries, and he'd assumed that Wasp had been responsible for it.

But he hadn't _said_ anything, and that was the important part.

I lay there on my berth for another megacycle, wondering vaguely where everyone was, but unwilling to face the pain of movement to find out. I focused instead on what was going on in my life...it seemed so unreal. I didn't know that 'bots were capable of such cruelty as Longarm was...and it made me sympathize for Wasp. How many mechs like that had he met in his other life? How many times had be been brutally used, nearly killed?

It was a wonder he'd opened up to me at all...much less gotten to the point where he was. I felt horrible for the distance between us, the rift that was growing wider all the time, but...what else could I do? If I confided in him, he'd probably offline Longarm. Or try to, and that would end badly for both of us. I couldn't let him know that someone dangerous knew his secret. I wouldn't let him bear that burden.

I grit my dentals and sat up, feeling suddenly spurred into action. I made it as far as standing before I remembered the pain, and I let out a small hiss as a wave of it stabbed through me. I could almost feel myself sparking inside my port.

But still I moved. Where I was going, I wasn't sure. I just needed to _move_, to be active. Laying around like a pile of scrap wasn't going to get me anywhere. If anything, it was draw attention to me; I knew it wasn't like me.

After about ten cycles, I began to get an idea of what to do with myself. It wasn't something I was happy with, but I hoped it was something that would put an end to my constant worries. Maybe it would give a happy ending to...someone.

I'd hardly gotten any recharge in the last three solar cycles, and my systems were starting to feel the wear of it. I needed energon...I needed stasis. I refused both, forcing myself to push on, to find Longarm. I would allow myself such luxuries as those once my task was complete.

Finally, after walking so long the pain between my legs had turned to numbness and shaky steps, I found him. He was blessedly alone, and I made my way to him as quickly as I could.

He heard me coming and turned, dark expression becoming lighter, if a little wary. He watched me in silence; I walked until I could go no further.

Finally, my body gave out and refused to propel me forward. The physical and mental trauma, combined with not refueling and not recharging, forced me to my knees before the blue-and-gray mech.

"Bumblebee?" he asked, genuine confusion laced into his tone.

"Please," I whispered softly, helm bowed. The floor blurred.

I felt him get up and move to my side. He lifted my face to look at me, and I could almost fool myself into believing that I saw real concern in those electric blue optics. He touched me gently, coaxed me into leaning against him.

"Please what, little Bee?" he murmured in my left audio unit. "What are you asking for?"

"Please...L-leave..." I vented a bit of hot, stale air and shuttered my optics, fighting against the dizziness my short-circuiting equilibrium chip was leaving me with. "Leave Wasp alone. I'll do anything, I'll stay with you forever. Just...just stop this. Please..."

My vocals cracked and fizzled with static. So did my audio receptors. I barely heard the 'bot's sigh, and didn't register him moving me to lay on my back until I already was.

"You need energon," he said, admonishing me. I blearily saw him reach out and grab a pink cube from…somewhere. I don't even know. I've never really cared. "Here, drink some."

He made to lower it to my mouth, but I grabbed his arm, stopping it. I shook my helm.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't...it hurts." My servo lowered to my chest plates. My Spark pulsed and quailed in its chamber, giving me the pain my port sensors no longer could. My processor made the connection between my pleas, echoed so perfectly, and flashed back to the pain this mech had physically inflicted on my blue star only a few megacycles ago. It terrified me to think that I was offering myself up for more of that...for the rest of my function. But I would do it. Maybe it was cheesy, maybe it was _stupid_, but I would _do this_. For Wasp. Always for him. "It hurts, Longarm. Stop it. Please."

Silence. Then, "You need to refuel, Bee."

"No! Primus!" I pushed him away, knocking the energon cube out of his servo. I sat up and glared at him through optics that kept trying to shut down. "You don't fragging _get_ it, do you?"

He stared at me, not surprised, not...not anything. His faceplates were blank, his optics stoic. He didn't even move to wipe off the energon that had spilled on his arm. That only made me more angry. I felt ridiculous for getting _so mad_, but...he needed to understand. He needed to _give me an answer_.

I loved Wasp, and I was willing to give myself up to save his life. Longarm needed to see that and _end this stupid game_.

"Stop toying with me, stop toying with Wasp's _life_," he growled, my dentals gritted so tightly I could hardly speak. My voice was still laced with static. "I give up. You can slagging _have_ me, just...just stop threatening him. _Anything_, if you'll just leave him alone."

I lowered my gaze, watched as my field of vision flickered, then went black. I heard my systems winding down, but struggled not to offline. This was _vital_, slag it.

"Alright, Bumblebee. If it means that much to you..." Suddenly, his voice was next to me again, and I flinched away out of reflex. "But you must remember that you put yourself in this situation. No backing down. Your freedom--your _life_--for Wasp's. That's the deal."

I only nodded wordlessly before relaxing and falling into the inky blackness of deep emergency stasis.

* * *

I rebooted slowly, sluggishly. The first thing I did was groan at the ache that seemed to have settled deep in every little piece of my internal workings. Especially my fuel lines. They seemed especially sore...like they'd been pumping fumes through my body for too long.

Slowly, things came back to me. I lay still, absorbing it. My decision was final; I would do all I could to save Wasp's career. It meant more to him than I ever could have. This was his only chance at being a part of society. Me? I was replaceable. He could find another lover, eventually.

It hurt, but it was true. I had to be.

Slowly, I tried to sit up. I was startled when I felt a servo pushing me back down. A servo far too big to be Wasp's; my Spark, which had leapt in its chamber, settled to the back again. Shying away from the need to continue burning.

"Calm yourself, little Bee," murmured Longarm. "You nearly deactivated. You're going to need some real rest."

I onlined my optics and looked at him, wary of his gentle tone. His expression was warm, but I wasn't buying it; he was a master of disguises. That terrifying monster that had put me where I was could be lurking just under the surface, ready to strike at the merest intake done improperly.

I checked my chronometer. It had been four megacycles since I'd offlined in Longarm's presence. Technically, I shouldn't have been online right then. I should have been out for another two megacycles, at least. Nearly-deactivated systems take a while to recalibrate and realign and whatever else.

The mech at my berthside smiled and handed me a cube of standard-issue low-grade energon. It was a murky pink-purple, but it was also probably all my systems could handle right then. I took one sip, and then immediately guzzled it down. It felt like drinking straight from the Well of the Allspark for my dry fuel lines.

"You're lucky I know how to provide emergency energon transfusions, Bumblebee," he said softly, chuckling. I stared at him. He raised his right servo and wagged his first finger at me. "Otherwise you would have had to go back to the med bay. And that would have been...unfortunate."

There. Right there, that monster peeked through. It stuck its glossa out at me and then ducked out of sight again.

He was mad at me for running myself so ragged. I was thankful right then that my systems would be unable to handle a beating, because it bought me time to make it up to him. To wear down on that anger. Maybe even erase all of it.

Not likely, but...hey, gotta hope for the little things.

"Where am I?" I asked. My voice was still laced with static.

"A storage room," he offered, shrugging and looking away. I vented some hot air and shuttered my optics, only choosing to open them again when another cube of energon was pressed into my servos. "You need that," he said.

I was still, and then, slowly, I nodded, raising the container to my lips. I drank slowly this time, savoring the tingle it brought to my body. It soothed some of the ache, and for that, I was grateful.

* * *

It took a deca-cycle, but eventually my body healed enough for Longarm to start using it again. He was strangely gentle at first…maybe because now he knew he had me. Probably. No need to torture me into giving in anymore.

It escalated quickly, and his dark desires came back to the surface. He seemed insatiable, always wanting more, always wanting to take it to the next step. I was getting tired of interfacing; there was a limit, and he was exceeding it. By a lot.

"Lay down."

I sighed and did as I was told, knowing he was in That Mood. Again. It was easier to just play along, get it over with. I still had yet to overload for him; maybe that was what had him so hot all the time. The need to prove he was as good as Wasp.

Longarm walked away, to the other end of the berthroom. We were alone; it was break time, and everyone else was off doing their own thing. No one would disturb us for at least a megacycle.

Wasp, I knew, had started hanging out with Ironhide again. He and I hadn't spoken since the day I shook him off outside the med bay.

I missed him.

Bringing myself back to the present, I watched Longarm bend down next to Wasp's berth and pull a length of cord out from underneath it. My Spark skipped a pulse; I remembered suddenly, violently, why it was there in the first place. I ached with the memory.

I didn't just miss him; I _pined_ after him.

"Longarm," I murmured softly, squirming where I lay. He mistook my unease for desire; his optics flared a brighter blue and his steps quickened. He was at my side in no time, pinning my wrists down and bringing the cord up to wrap around them.

I squirmed harder, but did not protest further. It would get me nowhere, and I knew that I could at least use this opportunity to view it as a connection to the green mech. However faint a connection it was.

When the teal mech stood straight again, I tugged on my wrists experimentally. They were expertly tied together and to some sort of pole I'd never noticed in the wall before. It looked almost like an oil pipe or something.

I looked back to Longarm, beginning to feel the sharp edges of fear creep in. We hadn't done this before, and I did not like the feeling of being unable to defend myself. He could do anything to me, and judging by his track record, he would take advantage of it.

"You look very good like that, little Bee," he murmured, optics darkening with his arousal. I could feel his systems heat up.

"What...are you going to do?" I winced at how innocent and naïve the question sounded, wishing I could have worded it better.

He smirked and leaned over me, fingers tracing my windshields. "I'm going to take you, Bumblebee," he whispered. "Properly."

My optics widened as panic lanced through me. I pulled at my wrists, but only succeeded in dragging my own body closer to the wall. I was not getting free that way, and with how the cable was tied, my servos couldn't retract to bring my stingers out.

He shushed me and laid his hand on my chassis again, leaning down to whisper something I guessed was supposed to be soothing. He promised not to hurt me if I was good and let him do as he wished. I began to tremble, but did not beg for release or some other option. It was going to come to this eventually, and if I could just get it over with now, I would.

Better to get used to it sooner versus later, right?

It didn't take many touches on my body for his cooling fans to kick in, but he seemed to ignore them, focusing entirely on what he was doing to me. My optics had shuttered in the beginning, and I eventually found myself succumbing to the physical reaction of his touches. His systems were heating up, and eventually my cooling fans whirred to life.

It was then that I felt there was no going back. I could feel pleasure from Longarm's servos; I could not go back to Wasp now. Something had changed. I wasn't able to really explain what, or why. I just..._couldn't_.

As it became clear I was beginning to want him, Longarm became more hasty. He stopped teasing to roughly pull my codpiece off; I closed my legs as he discarded of his own. He pried them open again, and only dipped his fingers down to make sure I was wet enough before he aligned himself and thrust in.

I cried out and arched my back struts, surprised at the lack of pain. The only touches I'd had to my port in so long were designed to hurt me; it felt strange receiving pleasure. Especially from the mech who'd done all of the hurting.

But there was definitely none of that going on now. Longarm leaned forward as his left servo wrapped around my cord, burying his face in my neck and pulling up at the same time. I keened and arched my hips. His chuckle ghosted over my right audio unit.

After that sign of acceptance, he wasted no time. His hips pulled back and then snapped forward again, burying his length deep inside me. I cried out again and shuddered, arching my hips off the berth, asking for attention to my cord. He thrust a few more times, then complied, beginning to move his servo in time with those thrusts.

I remembered how Wasp had done the same thing, and moaned airily, shivering again. Tension was already building in my body, and no matter what I did, I could not banish the image of the green mech from my processor.

I heard his voice, too, calling my name. It sounded so real. I wanted to call back.

I opened my mouth to do just that when he called out again. This time, it clicked that I _should not be hearing Wasp_.

With a gasp, I unshuttered my optics and lifted my head, ignoring the smirk on Longarm's face, the way he kept thrusting in and out even as Wasp came closer. He looked ready to kill. Me or the mech on top of me, I wasn't sure. Likely both.

"Bumblebee," he said again, tone angry and questioning and _hurt_. I turned away from it, shuttering my optics again.

I could feel the tension in my body approaching its peak, and I did not want Wasp there to see it happen.

"Leave!" I shouted, whimpering softly when Longarm came forward to nip my neck and whisper my name. I heard Wasp's pedsteps stop suddenly, and I looked to him again. He was staring at me uncomprehendingly. "Get out! Just...go a-away!" I grit my dentals and arched my back struts, clinging desperately to the edge of overload. "Get away from me, Wasp! Fragging _leave_!"

_T_here was a long, long silence, broken only by Longarm's small grunts and my involuntary gasps.

Then, finally, he left.

I reached my peak at the same nanoklik the door slammed shut.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: FFFFF--I TOLD MYSELF I WOULDN'T TAKE ANOTHER MONTH AND A HALF TO UPDAAAAATE. D= I'm sorry, guys. I love you.  
This is not the last chapter, though we're getting close. I just wanted to thank everyone that's stuck through my ridiculously long "breaks". And those who've kept reading, even as the story veered away from what y'all were expecting/wanted. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.  
Also, I'm not sure when I'll be updating again. I'm sick right now, and I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN AFTER THIS. D'=

Happy Valentine's Day/Singles Awareness Day, guys. Here's my valentine to you all.

Now, I only have one last thing to say...

_I'm sorry._

* * *

  
He wanted me to leave? To get away from him? Fine. I fragging would. I'd give him all the distance in the universe.

Stupid bumbler.

I didn't know exactly what was going on, and at that moment, I didn't much care. Bumblebee could submit himself to Longarm if he wanted to. He could 'face the whole slagging _camp_ if he wanted to. I didn't care anymore.

Caring _hurt_.

Faintly, I thought I heard Bumblebee call out as I left, slamming the stupid door behind me. It certainly wasn't a call for me to come back…though it did sound like my name. Kind of. Maybe. Or I was imagining things. I wouldn't have doubted it at that point.

Angry and confused and trying to ignore the turmoil in my chassis, I stormed away from the berthroom, away from Bee and his new _friend_, away from the reality that had punched me so hard in the face.

I was stupid to have trusted him.

I could see that now. I had fallen into some ridiculous sense of comfort, and that, apparently, had been my demise. I was an outcast. I could never truly fit in, never truly have friends. I couldn't even trust myself; how did I ever expect to trust _others_?

Living vicariously was a bad idea. Trying to come to terms with myself through Bumblebee was a _mistake_.

Logic was trying to tell me that my feelings were wrong, that the look in Bumblebee's optics had not been disgust, had not been trying to tell me to leave out of hatred. The twist of his faceplates was vivid in my memory files, but I ignored it.

Memory files can be corrupted by the Spark. _They_ couldn't be trusted, either.

Suddenly, I found all my anger gone. With it, my strength. I sank to the ground, still unaware and uncaring of exactly where I was. I put my helm in my servos and tried desperately to find some stable ground in my processor.

One thought kept looping: _If I can't trust my very mechanics…then what am I left with?_

It was sickeningly true. Memory files, sensory integration, processing, all of it could malfunction or be corrupted. And there was nothing anyone could do to catch it, to _stop_ it. So what was left? A 'bot's very workings weren't always reliable; how could his Spark be? How could anyone _else_ be?

And then in one fell swoop, my anger was back. With it, my strength, and the burning desire to do _something_. Anything. I needed revenge.

I needed for Longarm to hurt just as much as I did.

Blind, I ran back to the berthroom. Something was malfunctioning in me, but I didn't care. It didn't matter. Just as long as I could make it back to the stupid mech with the most stupid ability _ever_ and _put a dent in his faceplates_.

And I did.

All I remember is that Bee was in stasis. That hurt me all over again, cut me deeper, and fueled the furious power behind the punch that knocked Longarm onto the floor with a ringing _clang_ of metal. He was stunned and Bumblebee, the idiot, was still out. I wondered quickly if he was deactivated, ran a quick scan to affirm he wasn't, and then pounced onto my prey.

I put once dent in his face. Then two. Three. Cracked one optic lens and put a dent in his chassis. Felt something in my joints snap and then experienced my world being tumbled upside-down as I was violently thrown off of Longarm. Now he was on top of me, pinning me down. I wondered if he'd kill me. Almost hoped he would.

Everything froze when I took notice of his appearance. Time stopped; my intakes crunched to a halt.

His blue optics were shuttered and that stupid red _dot_ on his forehead shone. I knew he was seeing me through it. His mouthpiece was gone, and instead he had these…_things_ sticking up from either side of his head. Like jagged radio antennae. He spoke, but his mouth didn't move.

"You just made a foolish mistake, little Autobot."

He had some sort of lilt to his words. It was creepy, and it just _sounded_ evil.

I knew then that Longarm was a traitor. Maybe Longarm wasn't even his real _name_. He was just a spy. A filthy Decepticon.

I also knew that there had been a reason I'd never liked him.

My anger at Bumblebee was gone. There was no way he could have been giving himself to that pile of slag. He'd been tricked. Or forced into it.

"Who are you?" I asked. It was reflex, not something I _really_ cared about…but it was information I realized would be useful.

However, he only smiled at me and unshuttered his optics. The red one dulled and the antennae came down. In less than two astroseconds he looked like the same mech I'd just spent so many lunar cycles training with. When he spoke, the lilt was gone.

"I'm Longarm, of course," he replied. He stood up as he did it, dragging me with him. "Who else could I be?"

"You--"

"Wasp?"

I tensed. Looked behind me and saw Bumblebee sitting up--port bared to me-- and staring at me with wide optics. Then he looked at Longarm and flinched. I followed his gaze and saw how much damage I'd done.

…ouch. My servo hurt.

"Sentinel Prime, sir, please come to the berthroom immediately."

I saw the lips move as the words spouted from them, and tried to reel away. "Longarm" held me tight, though. He spoke again, something about importance, and dug his…his _claws_ into the wires beneath my shoulder armor.

I struggled again, tried and tried to get away, but he held me fast. Bumblebee was silent, most likely in some kind of shock. Just like him to lock up in that kind of situation.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity that had passed in the shutter of an optic, Sentinel came busting into the room. He saw everything, assessed it quickly, and glared at me. I glanced away, to Bee, and was relieved to see that he'd gathered himself enough to put his codpiece on.

"What's going on here?!" demanded our commander.

Longarm and I tried to talk at the same time. One dirty look in my direction from Sentinel quieted me long enough for Longarm to say the simple, one-word lie that ruined my life.

"Traitor."

He pushed me forward, and I stumbled. Caught myself and wheeled around, staring at Longarm.

"_What_?!" I shouted

"No!"

I looked to Bumblebee, who was clambering off of the berth. He stopped advancing once Sentinel pulled out his energy sword and threatened to cut his legs off if he took another step.

"But, sir, Wasp isn't--"

"Shut it, bumbler! You're not the one with the claim." He looked back at Longarm, a clear invitation to keep talking.

"He attacked me." Simple. Easy to prove. "And I have evidence that he has been communicating with the Decepticons." Not so simple, but somehow I knew it was just as easy for him to prove.

"I'm not a traitor! _You_ are!" I protested, pointing accusingly in his face.

I could have sworn the barest of smirks touched his lips as he glanced at me. When he looked back, it was with a composed expression; he was completely unaffected by my claim.

"Sentinel Prime, sir, if you'll just check Wasp's belongings, I'm sure you'll find everything you need to see…" He motioned to my berth, and Sentinel immediately strode to it.

I stood in place, feeling my world fall apart and wondering why it was happening.

I stopped speaking, only shook my head blankly when Sentinel opened the chest on the floor and saw the Decepticon communicator I had never before laid my optics on. He gave a shocked and outraged cry and stepped back, as if being too close to the device would somehow infect his systems and turn him traitor.

I tried to back away and only found myself stumbling into the mech who had planted the evidence, framed me, and stolen my freedom. He grabbed my shoulder armor, holding me in place, and before I could even think of trying to slip away, Sentinel was on me, stasis cuffs in servo and then around my own servos and all energy was sucked out of my body. My legs slipped out from under me, and suddenly I was only held up by Sentinel's grip on the metal bridge linking the cuffs.

"Let's go, traitor," he snarled at me.

I only stared straight ahead.

"Stop, slag it!"

I glanced at Bumblebee , glad I still had that much control over my optics, and wished I could shake my head. The idiot was standing there, looking ready to have a breakdown or knock out Sentinel and Longarm. Or both.

"Out of my way, you little scrap heap," demanded Sentinel. I winced (on the inside) at the insult. Bee didn't deserve that; why had it been said?

My answer came when our commander saw the shocked and confused look on Bumblebee's faceplates. Somehow, I knew that Sentinel was smirking as he lifted me up by the cuffs--ouch--and shoved my forward so that the only thing filling my visage was Bee's face. For a moment, something was exchanged between us. His expression softened. He gaze reached out to me, and I saw the terrible hurt he'd gone through. I saw how much this was really effecting him.

I tried to give him a look that said 'don't do anything stupid.' I still couldn't find my voice, though I knew it wasn't from the stasis cuffs.

He seemed to understand, because something behind his optics--not something mechanical, something Spark-deep--broke.

Then, suddenly, I was wrenched back--double ouch--and I saw Sentinel leaning in, sneering at Bumblebee and speaking in a deep, condescending tone.

"_That_ is why you are a worthless scrap heap," he said. "Because you 'faced and fell for a _traitor_. You're no better than him."

I was sure he was going to spit in Bee's face, and I swore that if he did, I would be the first mech to ever break free of the cuffs, just so I could put a nice dent in him. I would truly earn this trip to the Stockades.

But he didn't. He merely sneered a little more, then stood straight, and walked forward, dragging me along behind him.

I heard Bumblebee calling for him to stop, insisting I was innocent, but Sentinel ignored him. And somehow, I knew Longarm was restraining Bee, because he didn't come running after us like he would have any other time.

I'm not really sure what happened after that. I mostly retreated into myself, replaying memories and the words "fell for" in my processor. Had he really? Why hadn't he said something?

Was he being forced into his relationship with Longarm by that time? Did he interface with the real traitor even while he loved me? _Why_? What had Longarm threatened him with to get him in such a compromising position?

I had no answers, but the questions would not stop circulating around my processor. As if those answers would suddenly appear if I asked myself enough times.

* * *

I watched Sentinel drag Wasp away and knew that I would never see him again. I knew that Longarm had broken his promise. I knew that Wasp finally understood how deeply my feelings for him went.

I also knew that I was going to kill someone.

"What the slagging--frag you, let go of me!" I was shouting, surprised that I was able to even form words behind the roaring static in my audio units. "I'm going to kill you, you fragging--you stupid--!"

I doubt I broke free; I think he let me go. He knew I couldn't kill him. He knew I was almost no threat to him. I didn't understand, at the time, why he was so confident. I didn't really care, either.

I turned and dealt a nice, solid punch to Longarm's faceplates. The shape of my fist stayed in the soft metal, overlapping Wasp's own mark. I felt satisfied with it, but not satisfied with its effect. Or lack thereof.

Longarm took a step back, but his stoic expression didn't change. He was just staring at me. No sense of victory, no smirk, no anger. Nothing.

It creeped me out.

"…who are you?" I asked softly, staring in horror at the mostly-gray mech, unaware of how I was echoing Wasp. Something flickered in his optics then, but it was gone before I could tell what exactly it was.

He grabbed my shoulder armor and said quietly, "I am all you will ever know, little Bee."

He smirked. I shivered.

"You're crazy," I whispered. "Totally glitched." I took a step back. He took one forward.

Suddenly, I turned and bolted. I didn't make it very far; Longarm reached out--using that stupid ability of his--and dragged me back. I fell onto my chassis and winced as my paint scraped off on the floor. I knew someone would ask about it; I made a note to see if the medic would fix it later.

Assuming I _had_ a later. Primus knew what this malfunction was going to do to me.

Fear clenched around my spark then, and my systems locked up. I couldn't scream, I couldn't fight.

I have no memory of what happened to me after Longarm pulled me back to him.

* * *

The next few solar cycles passed in a blur. Wasp was taken away to the stockades, practically kicking and screaming. The most painful part was when he looked to me, and I could only stare back helplessly. He swore revenge on Longarm before they silenced him.

After that, I just went through the final few training exercises. Bulkhead was my partner; Sentinel made sure that I was never let anywhere near the outstanding students Longarm and Ironhide. Like I was tainted by my love for Wasp, and that dirtiness would rub off on them.

But I'm not sorry that I always got paired with Bulkhead. Doing so…probably saved my life.

It was one of our last trainings, a big important one. We were going through simulated combat, and I had snapped at Bulkhead before taking off on my own. I was sure I could handle it. It was just a simulation, after all.

I assume something malfunctioned, because suddenly it wasn't _just a simulation_ anymore. I was being fired at with real ammo, and I wasn't equipped to handle that.

But, surprisingly, Bulkhead saved the day. He snatched me up, away from the line of fire, and knocked a building down with his wrecking ball, crushing the guns.

Thing is, he also knocked it down on Sentinel Prime.

We took off to try to avoid punishment, but when it came time for graduation, Sentinel had decided he was going to kick Bulkhead out. He hadn't found out who had _actually_ knocked the building down, but since he was an aft, he figured he'd "drop the biggest loser out of the platoon for good measure."

An impulse seized me then, and I stepped forward, exclaiming, "I did it!" Though I surprised myself, I didn't take it back or let it show.

Because I'd realized that was my one ticket out. Away from Longarm. Claim responsibility for damaging Sentinel's ego, and be denied my chances of Elite Guard status.

Besides, Bulkhead was good at Spark. He didn't deserve to be kicked out for that.

My plan worked. I knew Sentinel had just been _itching_ for an excuse to kick me out, anyway. I was no better than Wasp, as far as he was concerned.

He could think that. Just as long as he got me away from Longarm.

-----------------

Turns out Bulkhead got thrown out, too. I'm not really sure why, because he didn't seem to care much. So I didn't go out of my way to empathize for him.

For a long time we worked as minor repair bots around Cybertron. I caught glimpses of Longarm, every now and then, and always made sure to hide myself so he wouldn't see me.

Eventually, I got stuck with Optimus Prime and some run-down ship. This old medic, Ratchet, was with us, too--no idea why, probably because he was so fragging old. But the four of us got sent out to repair space bridges, always in some back-spaced quadrant of Autobot territory.

It was in one of these quadrants that we found another bot, all holed up in this little rock cave. His name was Prowl, and he wasn't a nice bot--real cold and distant. Unhappy that we'd found him. He had some tragic past that he was running from, which sounded really stupid to me, but Prime took him in. He became one of our team. He wasn't happy about it, at first, but he got used to it and lightened up a little.

Just a little.

Before I knew it, we'd become a kind of dysfunctional family. Enough that when we discovered the Allspark itself and were chased to Earth by the Decepticons everybody had thought long gone, I was afraid for their lives just as much as mine.

Both my team and Megatron--the 'Con leader himself--crashed on Earth. We were okay; we hit Lake Michigan and went into emergency stasis. Which was where we stayed for fifty Earth stellar cycles.

After we woke up, the Decepticons seemed to come out of nowhere. This human, Isaac Sumdac, had created a technological revolution in the fifty years between our crash landing and rebooting. His daughter, Sari, was totally fascinated by us. She and I became fast friends, even though she was only eight "years" (the weird human word for stellar cycles) old.

But…throughout fighting for the safety of myself and my friends, nearly losing my life, nothing cut me as deep as hearing from Ultra Magnus that Wasp had escaped the Stockades.

Elite Guard members were out looking for him, but they figured he'd come to Earth. I played the "he hates me" angle so that I wouldn't be detained for questioning or anything.

If I could even maybe see him again, I would. By Primus, I'd fight dental and stinger to talk to him again.

Only one problem: When I did finally meet up with him, he blamed _me_ for his ruined life. He'd gone insane, and somehow twisted it around in his processor that it was _my_ fault.

My Spark hurt.

"Bumblebot's fault that Wasp go to the Stockades! Bumblebot ruin Wasp's life!"

"Wh--no!" I reached out to him. He lunged to attack and I was forced to dodge. "Wasp, no, I didn't! Don't you remember? I l--" I stopped myself, unable to form the words. Did I still love him? I…wasn't sure.

In my nanoklik of distraction, Wasp lunged and tackled to me the ground. Seeing him above me again made my Spark skip one beat…then two…then it seemed to slam against its casing in a desperate attempt to reach his. My intakes stuttered; my systems stalled for a few nanokliks. I reeled, and by the time I'd regained myself, he was speaking again.

"…gonna make Bumblebot suffer! Gonna show Bumblebot what Wasp went through! _Because _of Bumblebot!"

"Wasp, no! Primus, what _happened_ to you in there?"

He didn't answer, merely glared at me with those eerie purple optics. It was a look of hate that I hadn't seen from him in so long. A look I never thought I'd see again, to be honest.

I wanted to do that crying things humans do when they're really sad. But I couldn't. I wanted to scream and rage until I broke. I couldn't do that, either. All I could do was wait, numb, as Wasp swapped our appearances. He looked kind of like me, and put my battle mask in place to help the effect. Now he was a perfect copy, save for those stupid optics.

I looked at my servos. They were his.

He meant to send me back to the Stockades in his place.

My Spark hurt again. I looked like him, felt like I was part of him. But it was so painfully false that I could almost swear I _was_ doing that crying thing.

"Wasp!" I looked up in alarm, optics trained on the form of Optimus Prime. He was glaring at me, and I scrambled to my peds--throwing the real Wasp off of me at the same time. "Stop right there, Wasp!"

Then, incredibly, he looked at the 'bot impersonating me, looked _right into those freaky, abnormal purple optics_, and said, "Good work, Bumblebee."

Wasp only stared back at him stoically, and Prime, too caught up in having Wasp--me--captured, didn't notice how off "I" was.

This whole identity-swap was…really confusing.

"Come on, Wasp, back to the Stockades."

That lurched me into action. I held up my servos defensively and cried, "No!" I cringed inwardly when my voice came out exactly like his, but kept going, "Prime, it's me, Bumblebee! Wasp switched our appearances!"

Incredibly, Optimus smirked. Offering no response but that, he aimed his little grappling hook at me and fired. It wrapped around one of my servos, and he yanked me closer.

My body lurched forward, and I had to stumble closer to him to stay standing. It was like having no control over myself.

It was like being on a leash.

As soon as that occurred to me, I had a brief but very clear internal processor image of Longarm smirking down at me. I could feel the ghost of his fingertips grazing my Spark, hear his voice softly threatening to squeeze me out of existence if I didn't cooperate.

I went into a blind panic. I was terrified of going back to Cybertron, of being anywhere within three thousand light years of Longarm. My free servo retracted and once of Wasp's stingers came forth. I shot it at Optimus and hit him square in the chassis. He went flying backwards and I, with one wrist still bound by that slagging wire-hook, went with him.

As soon as we'd landed and gotten our intakes flowing again, I whimpered, "Prime, please, it's _me_. I'm not Wasp. I'm Bumblebee!"

He glared down at me and only said, "Bumblebee would never have attacked me, even if he _was_ disguised as a traitor like you."

He looked to Wasp, still standing there silently (didn't they notice something was _wrong_? The real me--_me_--would have sprung into action already!) and smiled. He was apparently blind, because he still didn't notice the purple optics in place of my blue ones.

Optimus stood up, and forced me to stand with him. Once again I lashed out, desperate to be free, to get away and somehow change back into _my_ appearance. But instead of stinging him again, I only brought my stinger down on the taut cable connecting us. To my surprise, it actually snapped, and I took advantage of his and Wasp's surprise to shift into my alt mode--which was also green--and hightail it out of there.

I sped through the city streets for a long time, always taking obscure back roads and alleyways. Finally, I slowed and stopped, transforming back. There was a huge (by human standards) hose up ahead; still desperate, I grabbed it and turned it on. I began scrubbing at myself, trying to get the green pain off. I missed my yellow. I missed being me.

Most of all, I missed Wasp. _My_ Wasp.

After several cycles of scrubbing and no result, I gave up with a frustrated cry. The only thing left to do was corner Wasp and make him change us back.

But how could I do that, with my team and the Elite Guard squad trying to capture me? Wasp was probably back at our base…which meant he was probably surrounded by my friends.

There was the slight chance that he'd been left to watch the place and the rest were out looking for me. _Very_ slight; any of the others could be there, too.

But it was all I had, so I would take it.

Switching back into my alt mode, I sped away in the direction of the abandoned factory that my friends and I had made our home.


End file.
